The Great Mr E
by Azulixa
Summary: AU. Based off of The Great Gatsby. He'd built himself up quite the empire. Interesting and quirky people in and out of his house, night and day. But I always had a suspicion, even before I met him, he never really liked it. It was all for her. And for a moment, he had her, and his kingdom was complete. If only I could tell him...it was all about to crash. I OWN NONE OF THE SONGS!
1. Welcome to the Universe

**A/N: Yes, I am still working on Silver Kastet, Rubies and Stars. I've been very busy recently, what with high school coming up next year, so please excuse me for that. Also, I've been playing Bioshock Infinite (which I beat in 3 days after it came out) and Minecraft. Anyway, this takes place from maybe the end of 1918-1921. I apologize for any OOC-ness there may be. I ALSO OWN NOTHING HERE. Read and review please!**

**Cast List:**

**Nick Carraway: Elizabeth (Bioshock Infinite)  
Jay Gatsby: Erik Destler  
Daisy Buchanan: Christine Daae  
Tom Buchanan: Raoul De Chagny  
Jordan Baker: Alexei Vronsky (Anna Karenina)  
Myrtle Wilson: Meg Giry  
Owl Eyes: Number 10 (Doctor Who)  
George Wilson: Marius (Les Miserables)  
Catherine: Courfeyrac (Les Miserables)  
Catherine's Husband: Eponine (Les Miserables)**

When we were escaping from Columbia, my guardian, Booker DeWitt, gave me some advice that I've been thinking on ever since the incident.

"One thing I've learned; if you don't draw first, you don't get to draw at all."

Booker didn't tell me more, but ever since he found me in the floating city of Columbia, we've been unusually communicative in a reserved way, and I understood Booker meant much more than simply talking about fighting. As a consequence of him telling me such, I'm inclined to, when a whim enters my mind, and after thinking it through, act on this whim, which has made me the subject of not a few miraculously solved problems. The abnormal mind is quick to detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a person who only APPEARS to be normal like me, and so it came about when Booker and I were still traveling through Columbia I started to doubt myself and my actions. Thankfully, Booker was there to reassure me that I was no monster.

Anyway, after boasting this way of my outlook on life, I come to the admission that it has a limit. Outlook may be founded on the hard rock or the wet marshes, but after a certain point I couldn't care less what it's founded on. When I came back from Long Island last autumn, I felt that I wanted the world to be in uniform and at a sort of moral attention forever; I wanted no more riotous excursions with privileged glimpses into the heart of another human: like how it was before Booker Dewitt crashed through the ceiling of my isolated tower in Columbia.

Only Erik, the man who gives his name to no one, was exempt from my reaction-Erik, the man who represented everything for which I have a burning hatred for. If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something incredibly beautiful about him, a heightened sensitivity to what life could bring to him. This responsiveness had nothing to do with that impressibility which is dignified under the name of 'creative temperament'-it was an extraordinary gift of hope, a romantic readiness such as I have never seen in anyone else-not even my guardian Booker. No-Erik did turn out alright in the end, I guess-it was just that it was what preyed on Erik, what poison floated in the dark recesses of his mind that temporarily closed out my interest in his unspeakable sorrows and the short-winded elations of other people.

_And so the time has come, it's here  
The silence ends, change is near  
You wait in the balance libertine  
Come into the pantheon  
__Welcome to the universe__  
_

When I went to live on my own after convincing a hesitant Booker, the first place he told me to check was the West Egg in Long Island. Long Island is near Manhattan, so I knew I'd always be able to go back to Booker if something happened. I was hiding under the lie that I was some distant 3rd niece twice removed, as Elizabeth DeWitt. Anyway, I did end up living in the West Egg, the-um, well, the less desirable of the East and West Eggs. My little house was at the tip of the egg, maybe 100 yards from the sound, and snuggly squeezed between two much larger houses. The one on my right was gigantic-it looked like the Opera Populaire in Paris that I dragged Booker to go see so many months ago! Complete with a green roof and statues of angels on either side of the roof.

It was Erik's home. Or more like...well, since I didn't know Erik, it was the house of a man named Mr. E. My house was much smaller-maybe about the size of my quarters in Columbia-but unlike my Columbian rooms, I could go out whenever I wished, had a pretty view of the Long Island Sound-all for sixty dollars a month, paid by Booker.

Across the courtesy bay, the fairytale-esque palaces of beautiful East Egg glistened along the water, and I guess the history of the summer really begins the evening I went over there to have dinner with the de Chagnys. Booker had introduced me to Raoul a few weeks ago when I told him I wanted to not be a hinderance to Booker's home life, and I had met Christine when Booker took me to Paris. Raoul, among various other accomplishments, was one of the most cultural influences in all of New York-he was proud to support all the arts, along with his parents, who I've never met and have no intention of doing so. He and Christine still lived in Paris when I went on my trip there, but now he'd left France and come West in a fashion that took my breath away-for example, he'd brought with him 7 horses from a ranch in the state of Texas. It was hard to imagine someone to have that much wealth.

Anyway, so it happened on a warm evening with tiny lightning bugs surrounding me I went over to East Egg to see two friends that I really don't know. Their house was like a palace-a royal blue and white mansion overlooking the bay. It had a huge yard with a little beach, complete with a stable, a memorial to Christine's father, and a flower garden with no red roses. There were every flower imaginable in that garden-even white and pink and yellow roses-but no red ones. This mystified me to no end, until I got to know Mr. E. The de Chagnys even had their own dock, and Raoul had told me they were getting a boat 'within the next year or so'. It's not like I'll get to ride it or anything.

The windows were of French style, glowing with reflected sunset colors and open to the breeze, and there was Raoul de Chagny standing upon the porch in a white button down shirt and brown pants. Raoul did not seem to have changed since our last meeting. He was still a sturdy, light-brown haired man of maybe 28 with shining eyes that established dominance over his face. His speaking voice, a smooth tenor, added to the impression he conveyed to me. We were always cordial to each other, and though we were never as close as Booker and I, I always had the impression (Booker commented on it too) that he approved of me and wanted me to like him with some harsh, defiant wistfulness.

We talked for a bit on the porch. "Do you like my house?" he inquired. I could sense in his voice he was trying to make me love it, so I agreed and he showed me inside. We walked through a high hallway into a bright living room, windows slightly open and shiny against the perfectly cut grass. Breezes blew in and out the room, blowing curtains in one end and blowing out the others across the room. It looked as how I always pictured a family house in Columbia too seem like.

Sitting on the sofa were a woman and a younger man. This man was a curiosity, a stranger to me. He had curly hair the color of honey, a little honey mustache, and clear light blue eyes. He was extended full length at his end of the sofa, completely motionless and with his chin raised a little bit. If he saw me, he gave no hint of it-I actually murmured a half apology under my breath for disturbing his peace. The woman, Christine Daae, got up, giggled, a charming little giggle, and I laughed too and went fully into the room. "Bonjour, Elizabeth!"

She laughed again as I responded in kind and she held my hand for a moment, looking in my eyes, promising that there was no one else in the world she wanted to see right then. It made me feel special, although if I met her these days, it would be empty. She hinted in a murmur that the name of the blonde man on the couch was Vronsky. _Vronsky. _What an odd little name. At any rate, Mr. Vronsky's eyes examined me, he nodded almost interceptibly, and then went back to keeping his chin in the air. I almost apologized again. An odd name for an odd man. I looked back at Christine, who began asking me questions in a high singsong voice. It was the kind of voice that when you hear it, you follow the notes up and down, as if every word is an arrangement of notes that you can only catch if you listen very closely.

Her face was sad but pretty with sparkly things in it, sparkly eyes and a sparkly attitude to go with it. We continued talking for a while, and Raoul went to sit with Vronsky. When I asked her if she would think of ever going back to France, she started laughing again. "Oh, we'll stay here in America, don't worry Miss DeWitt," Raoul said. "We'd be fools to live anywhere else!"

Here Vronsky said: "Of course!" with such suddeness that I nearly jumped. It was the first words I'd ever heard out of his mouth. Apparently it surprised me just as much as it did him, because he stood up rapidly and stood next to Christine. "I'm stiff," he complained, his eyes drifting over to me and then leaving quickly. "I've been lying on that sofa for hours." "Don't blame us," Raoul said jokingly as he stood up and goes to be next to me. "We've been trying to get you to come to the city with us all afternoon."

They bantered like this on and on until dinner was called. The four of us trooped out to the balcony, where the sunset was still spreading over Long Island. As we sat, Vronsky looked at me again. "You live on the West Egg," he stated. I looked at him, down at my plate, and back up just as quickly. "H-how did you know?" "A fellow there told me about you moving in next door to him." "Really? I don't know-" "Oh come now Miss DeWitt! You must know Mr. E." I cocked my head curiously at the name. "Mister E?" "I-I've never met him." I replied to Vronsky. "Oh, then you must come to one of his parties sometime soon," he continued, but then food is served and we all went silent because it's spaghetti.

As we were being cleared of our dinner plates, the butler came in and whispered something into Raoul's ear. Raoul muttered an apology and left the table. As if his departure quickened something inside her, Christine leaned forward towards me again and spoke in that glowing singsong voice: "I love the sight of you here, Elizabeth. You remind me-of a rose, a white rose. Doesn't she?" Christine turned to Vronsky as I raised my eyebrows. A white rose? _Alright then. _Vronsky just raised his eyebrows like I did, which Christine took as a yes. Then she suddenly stood up and left into the house. I sat there across from Vronsky awkwardly. I'd never been left alone with a man besides Booker in my life of solitude. I cleared my throat. "When does this Mr. E host his par-" "Shhhh!" he said, sitting up abruptly and leaning towards the wall. I did the same, mystified. Murmurs were audible in the room beyond, and for a moment Vronsky and I could make out a few words, then the noise ceased, started up again, and then ceased again.

I opened my mouth to ask him what exactly we were listening for, but he shushed me again. "Don't speak. I want to hear what happens?" "Happens? What's going on?" Vronsky raised his eyebrows again at me and smiled this time-a confidential smile, as if he was going to tell me the secret to ruling the world. "You must really be new here. You mean to say you don't know?" I shook my head innocently. "Well-" he looked from side to side "-Raoul's got a woman in Coney Island." "Got a woman?" I deadpanned. At the time, I had really no idea what he meant. He nodded and sat back. "His mistress doesn't have the decency to leave him some time at dinner, apparently." My jaw dropped. Raoul-the seemingly kind Raoul I'd met not even two months ago-had a mistress. Surprisingly, however, I wasn't shocked. The only thing I was shocked by was my lack of shock. My head was spinning as I stared at my informant across the table. Vronsky smirked, reached across the table, and popped my mouth shut as Christine and Raoul came back outside. Christine started babbling again, and that's how it went on for for awhile.

After Christine gave me a tour of their home, we went back down to the living room. Raoul was sitting comfortably on a leather easy chair reading a book while Vronsky was back to being sprawled on the couch reading the newspaper. When we came in, Vronsky stopped us with a lifted finger. "To be continued," he said dramatically, "in our very. NEXT. ISSUE." I started giggling at his antics as he put the paper on the coffee table. He looked at the large grandfather clock near Raoul. "9:30. Isn't it time for a good girl like Miss DeWitt to go to bed?" It then hit me that I'd been there for much longer than I thought. "Oh-I lost track of time, I'm so sorr-" Vronsky raised a hand to silence me. "If you want, I can take you back to your place on the West Egg," he volunteered. I smiled brightly. "Yes please." Vronsky got up and went to get his coat. "Good night, Raoul," I said softly. He looked up from his book. "Good night, Elizabeth. We'll see you anon."

"Of course we will," Christine started up again. "In fact, I think, Raoul, we should arrange a marriage between our soldier here and Miss Elizabeth. Come over a lot, Elizabeth, and we'll sort of-oh-fling you together-" _PleasetellmemyfaceisntasredasitseemstobeGodnoshutu pChristine_ "you know, leave you alone in tight places, set you up to go on a boat, and all that sort of thing-" It's hopeless, my face was burning at the interesting Persian carpet. "Now, Christine," Raoul said jokingly. Vronsky let out a burst of laughter before taking me out the door.

When Vronsky let me off at my house, I sat there on my unkept back lawn for a little while, facing the Long Island Sound. The wind was gone. All was quiet. It was a shock to me-ever since I'd met Booker, there'd almost been no quiet. But now...

A small dark bird flitted past my vision and as I turned to follow it, I realized I was not alone. On my neighbor's property, a dark figure had emerged and was standing with his hands at his sides regarding the stars. Something in the uptight-trying-to-be-natural movement and his secure position on the lawn told me it was this, "Mr. E," Vronsky had mentioned. I got up with a friendly smile, ready to talk to him. But something held me in place. Somehow, just the sight of one lonely black figure in the shadows rooted me to the ground. Maybe he wanted some time for himself. As I watched, he lifted up his arms like that of an orchestra conductor's, and as far as I was away from him, I swear he was trembling. I glanced where he was looking-nothing extraordinary was there, except for a tiny green light that might have been at the end of a dock. When I turned back, Mr. E was gone, and I was alone again, naturally.


	2. It's a Hard Life

**A/N: LESS THAN 2 WEEKS TILL THE GREAT GATSBY MOVIE COMES OUT! *clears throat* Anyway...here is chapter 2. I do not own It's A Hard Life, seeing as I am not Freddie Mercury, or any of the characters used. Read and review please! Enjoy.**

There was a field of ashes about halfway between Manhattan and the West Egg. It was almost like one of those farms I used to read about, but this one grew ashes instead of golden wheat. The crops grow into ridges and hills and take the forms of houses and failed gardens. Sometimes the field would grow men, their dark figures standing out as black on gray.

Above that dank kingdom, there was a ruined billboard, advertising the services of an eye doctor. The eyes were blue and gigantic with no face, only gold glasses that passed over an invisible nose. The blue was worn from the sun and the glasses were almost faded into the board. Still, the eyes surveyed that valley of ashes unrelentlessly.

I remember the first time I really noticed it. Raoul had asked me to spend the day with him in Manhattan, and since I had nothing better to do, I had agreed. We were on the train to get lunch at a fancy place in the city when the train paused right in the middle of the ashen empire. I remember pressing my hands against the window and taking in every detail of the gray. I remember Raoul asking me what I was looking at. I remember the lonely train whistling as I locked eyes with a man standing on top of an ash hill, dressed in a dirty white shirt and dirty black pants, with ash on his face and a longing and sad look in his eye. I watched him even as the train rolled away, his eyes losing mine and drifting up to the billboard, almost as if he was praying to the blue eyes.

It was on this day, after we finished lunch, Raoul took my arm and began to start towing me towards the new subway. "Where are we going?" I asked. "To Coney Island. I want you to meet Meg." I didn't protest because, well, honestly? His determination to have my company bordered on obsession and that want crawled into my mind and gave me a slight fear of him. I guess he sensed that I didn't see him as a god like everyone else did and wanted to fix that. Anyway, though I was curious about 'Meg', I had no desire to meet her-but I ended up doing so anyway.

When we got to Coney Island, my reluctance was forgotten when I spotted a cotton candy vendor. Raoul followed my gaze and in a few moments, we both had a cotton candy cone in each hand and devouring them. He directed me to a large theme park by the name of Phantasma and led me around the back, where we slipped in through a worker's gate. We went through the back of Phantasma-"Where the magic happens", Raoul had said sarcastically-until we reached what almost looked like some sort of mechanics workhouse. It was unprosperous and bare, with unused and mid-repair different carnival accoutrements all around. It occurred to me that Raoul was wrong. This was where the magic happened. It was just that behind the splendor of Phantasma, there was grit and dust.

A young man appeared in another door, wiping his hands on his pants. I stood a bit behind Raoul silently eating my cotton candy as I took in this man's appearance. He was a dark-haired, turquoise-eyed man, anaemic, and was scruffy but handsome. When I first saw this man, I knew he didn't belong here. I knew he should have been living the life Raoul did-full of riches and splendor. When he lay eyes on Raoul and I, a damp gleam of friendliness appeared in his eyes.

"Hello, Marius, my old friend!" Raoul said, jovially slapping him on the shoulder. "How is business?" When Marius spoke, my theory of what he should have been was confirmed. His voice was a bit too-what is the word-posh for a Coney Island repairman. He could be so much more. "I can't complain," Marius said honestly. He looked behind Raoul, saw me, and I gave a tiny wave. "Oh, this is my dear friend Miss DeWitt. Miss DeWitt, this is Marius Pontmercy." We shake hands and I get some oil on mine, which I wipe discreetly on my skirt. Marius and Raoul begin to discuss investments and business talk as I finish my cotton candy and quietly put it into a wastebasket.

Then the mens' voices faded and I looked toward the office door. I half-expected a curvy, vivacious red-haired woman smoking a cigarette in a scarlet red, tight, low-necked dress. Instead, I was greeted with the opposite. A thin, young innocent-looking woman, with blonde hair and blue-gray eyes, not wearing a loud red dress, but a decent caramel-colored one. I blink and look at Raoul. The sneaky look in his eye confirms the impossible. This angel-like girl is his mistress. The girl smiles nervously and passing her husband as if he was air, and shakes hands with Raoul, looking him straight in the eye. Then her eyes came to me and I looked down a little and smiled kindly. She studied me for a moment, as if checking to see if I was another mistress of Raoul's, and I tried my hardest to say no with my eyes. Finding me to her liking, she grinned at me and then spoke to Marius in a soft, singsong voice. Not like Christine's, but a genuinely gentle and sweet one all of its own.

"I'll be going to see Courfeyrac and Eponine in the city. Is that alright with you?"

"Oh-yes. Miss DeWitt, Mr. de Chagny, would you care for some drinks?" Raoul shook his head when I raised my hand timidly and requested a glass of water, please sir. He left and his wife moved close to Raoul. "I want to see you," he said intently. "Get on the next train." She nodded shyly. "I'll meet you by the news-stand on the lower level." "Y-yes," she whispered, moving away from him just as Marius Pontmercy emerged with my glass of water.

After finishing my drink, Raoul and I waited for her a small bit down the road from the worker's entrance to Phantasma and out of sight. "She doesn't belong here," Raoul said, almost wistfully. "He doesn't seem to either," I reply. Raoul clicks his tongue in agreement. "His grandfather's loaded, but he refuses to take a penny of anything the old man offers him. Would rather 'start from the bottom and work his way up', as they say. It does Meg good to get away from him. She deserves better." "Why doesn't Marius object?" Raoul snorts. "Pontmercy? He never suspects a thing. The man's so up in the air that he wouldn't notice if she left for a few days."

And so, the three of us went up to the city-or more like 2 of us plus one, for Meg sat in another car. Raoul said it was due to the fact that Christine had friends and admirers that rode this train. Meg had changed her dress to an inconspicuous mint green muslin, which swished softly at every movement she made. At the news stand she bought a copy of _The New York Times_ and a theater magazine, and when we went to the drugstore, she bought some facial cream and a bottle of French perfume. I rather liked how hesitantly nervous she was to get new things, but Raoul was more than happy to dote on her.

We came to Fifth Avenue, a surprisingly soft and serene place, not unlike Meg herself. Raoul and she led me to a brick apartment building about maybe 17 floors high. "This is where you stay when you come here?" I inquired softly. Meg nodded. "Yes. I'll call my brother Courfeyrac and his fiancé Eponine, it'll be our own little party." The apartment was on the top floor, and was tiny as tiny can be. The living room was crowded to the doors with furniture that was clearly too big for it, so one practically wasn't walking on the floor, they were crawling around on the furniture. There was a beautiful photograph of a blonde ballerina mid-leap across a stage on the wall between two windows, and with a shock, I realized it was Meg herself. Several old newspapers and magazines lay across the coffee table, along with some romance drug store novels-the ones Booker and I occasionally would read and mock. I made myself comfortable on the sofa as Raoul took out a bottle of whiskey from a bureau.

This was the second day I've been drunk, so everything that happened after Raoul served us all drinks had a sunset-esque, lazy cast over it. Sitting on Raoul's lap, Meg called Courfeyrac on the telephone, then we ran out of whiskey, so I went to get some at the liquor store a block away. When I returned, only Meg was there, her mint green dress spread out all around her. I put the two whiskey bottles on the table and sat back on the couch. We shared a few moments of silence together before I pointed up at the photo of the ballerina. "You were a dancer?" She nodded. "They called me the best dancer in all of New York City," she said dreamily. "Everyone said that I was going to make it big one day, maybe even be in a movie...then I met Marius..." Her smile saddened. "And he stole my heart away. Convinced me to elope one day. And this was before he turned down all of his grandfather's money," she spat bitterly. "Would you go back and say no?" I replied. "Even if it meant you would have never met Raoul?" Meg looked down. "Yes. I'd give everything that both Raoul and Marius have ever given to me if I could dance again." Our eyes met and we both smiled sadly at opposite sides of the room.

The moment was shattered when Raoul arrived with two new people. The brother, Courfeyrac, was a sturdy, handsome man of about 30 with a curly mass of dark hair and dark eyes. He wore a flattering brown suit and gave off a jolly air. His fiancé, Eponine, was a charismatic, slender young woman of maybe 28 with wavy chocolate brown hair with the same eyes as her husband-to-be. She informed me that Courfeyrac was both a broker and in the 'artistic game,' and I found out that he was a photographer and was the one behind the camera for Meg's ballerina photo. With the influence of her brother and sister-to-be, her personality had undergone a change. The innocent naivety was gone, and was replaced with an impressive lively vitality. Her laughter was louder, her gestures were faster, her eyes shone brighter.

"I love your dress," Courfeyrac remarked. Meg raised her eyebrows. "It's just a crazy old thing. I just slip it on sometimes when I just don't care." "But it looks wonderful on you," Eponine added. "If you were in the right pose, your brother here could make something out of it." We all looked at Meg curiously. Mint green did look nice on her. "I'd change the lighting," Courfeyrac said after a moment. "I'd bring out the modeling of the features. And try to get hold of the hair." "I wouldn't think of changing the light-" Eponine replied, but her fiance silenced her with a kiss and then we all went back to studying Meg.

After about 20 minutes of useless banter, Courfeyrac downed some whiskey and said contentedly out of the blue, "I've done some great collections on Long Island, we've got two sets framed at our place." Eponine sat down next to me on the sofa. "Do you live down on Long Island?" "West Egg," I replied. "Really? I was there at a party about a month ago. At a man named Mr. E's." "I live next door to him." Her brown eyes widened excitedly. "Do you know him?" I shook my head. "I've never seen him." "Well, they say he's some second nephew to Gilles Andre or Richard Firmin, and that's where he gets all his money." I raised an eyebrow. I really didn't care how Mr. E got his money, and why did anyone happen to? "I'm scared of him," Courfeyrac said from across the room. "I'd hate for him to have anything on me."

Eponine leaned close to me and whispered in my ear as we watched Raoul throw his arm around Meg. "Neither of them can stand the people they're married to." "Not even tolerate them?" "Not one bit." She looked at where her fiance was talking with Raoul and Meg. "It makes no sense, really. I mean, picture yourself in their situation. Would you leave your husband that you loathe for the man you really love or stay with your husband and just see your love on the side?" I snorted. "I'd leave him if I really don't like him!" Eponine nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly. You know, it's really this 'Christine', that's keeping them from marrying each other. Both she and Raoul are Catholics, and she's the only one out of the two who doesn't believe in divorce. When they do get married, though, they're going to live in Canada and wait for everything to blow over." "Wouldn't it make sense to go to Europe?"

"Oh, do you like Europe? I just got back from France a few weeks ago." "Really?" I said excitedly. I love anything and everything about France. She nodded. "I went over there with my friend Cosette. We didn't really stay long-Cosette lost the money to pay for her return ticket at Monte Carlo. We had a real hard time getting back to New York, that much's true, Miss Elizabeth." Our conversation stopped for then, and I stared out the windows wistfully. The colors of the sky were a passionate mix of red, orange, yellow, and sky blue at the bottom-then the voice of Courfeyrac called me back into the room.

"I almost made a mistake too," he declared, his voice slurring slightly. "I almost married this little tramp who'd been after me for years. I knew she was below me-everyone was like, 'Courfeyrac, she's jus' a piece of trouble'-an' if I hadn't met 'Pione here, she'd be my wife for sure." "Yes, but at least you didn't marry her," Raoul said, nodding. "Thank God for that," the other man responded, downing his glass. "Well, I married her, and that's the difference between you and I." "Why did you, Raoul?" I asked suddenly. "You weren't forced to, right?" We all were quiet as Raoul considered everything. "I married her because I thought she was interesting and worldly. Instead I got a whiny bubblehead," he spat finally. "You were crazy about her for a while," Courfeyrac threw in.

"_Crazy about her!_" Raoul cried. "Who says I was crazy about her?! I was never any more crazy about Christine than I was about Elizabeth over there!" I shrank back slightly as everyone stared at me. "I just met him a month ago..." I whimpered. "The only crazy _I _was was when I married Marius," Meg said quickly, drawing all attention from me. "I knew right away I'd made a mistake. He'd RENTED a suit to get married in, and never told me, and then a man came after it one day when he was repairing the merry-go-round. I gave it to the man and then lay down and cried to beat the band all afternoon." "She really ought to get away from him," Eponine resumed to me. "They've been living above that workshop for 7 years now. And Raoul's the first sweetheart she's ever had."

The second bottle of whiskey was soon in demand by all of us in the room. I wanted to get out of that stuffy apartment and walk eastward to the Park, or maybe go to Booker's, but each time I tried to go, I was entangled in some wild argument that pulled me back, as if with ropes. High over the city, our line of lit windows in the growing darkness gave off an air of human secrecy to the watcher in the bright streets, and I was her too, looking up in wonderment. I was within and without, enchanted and disgusted by the inexhaustible variety of life. Raoul pulled up next to me and soon I was listening to his recount of his first meeting with Meg.

"It was on those two small seats facing each other that are always the last ones left on the train. I was going up to the city to meet with some friends at the bar. She was wearing a bright pink dress with these shiny white shoes, and I couldn't keep my eyes off her, but every time she looked at me I had to pretend I was looking at the advertisement over her head-I saw her wedding band, you know. When we came into my stop, I nodded at her and got off the train. I began walking quickly away and then I turned around because for a second there I thought I had left my scarf on the train-and there she was, right behind me and smiling. I didn't even really notice that I wasn't going to a bar but instead an Italian place, but all I was thinking was, 'You can't live forever; you can't live forever'."

It was 9:00-and when I asked Courfeyrac for the time right afterwards it was 10. People appeared and vanished through the haze, and I do remember falling asleep on the sofa and waking up when the conversation would raise excitedly. Sometime during midnight, I woke up and sat up on the sofa to watch Raoul and Meg debate whether or not Meg could say Christine's name. "CHRISTINE! CHRISTINE!" Meg half-slurred. "I'll say it when I want! Christine! Christi-" In a short deft movement, maybe Meg had tripped or Raoul pushed her, but she was flat on her back on the table. I fell asleep again and woke up sometime around 5 to find that it was silent throughout the whole apartment. Eponine was sitting on Courfeyrac's lap, both asleep on an easy chair, and I noticed that the bedroom door was locked and Meg and Raoul were not in the living room. I stood up and wearily took my scarf, hairbow, and left boot from the chandelier and somehow made it to the streets.

I don't remember much after that, but what I do remember is waking up on Booker's sofa 2 hours later and him silently giving me some coffee. Then I was lying half-asleep on the freezing lower level of Penn Station, attempting to keep my eyes focused on the newspaper in front of me and waiting for the 8 o' clock train.

_Yes it's a hard life  
Two lovers together  
To love and live forever in each others hearts  
It's a long hard fight  
To learn to care for each other  
To trust in one another-right from the start  
When you're in love-  
Yes it's a hard life  
In a world that's filled with sorrow  
There are people searching for love in every way_

He sat up in his bed and pulled on a red and black silk robe with a sigh. Last night's party had been more than the usual exhausting. He glanced at himself in the mirror: a man aged beyond his years, living forever in the past. There was only one keepsake of his troubled past left, and this one was not as removable as the others. He couldn't change his face.

The man winced and pulled his robe closer to him as he walked to the window. Pushing aside the curtains, he noticed his young new neighbor walking up to her home. Her dress and dark hair were rumpled, and she walked as if she was asleep, tripping over her own feet several times before shoving open her door and nearly falling inside. He watched her smaller house curiously for a few minutes. He had been so certain that the lights and music would draw this 'Miss DeWitt' to his estate, for curiosity's sake if nothing else. Clearly a more direct route was needed. He crossed over to his desk, removed a fresh piece of paper, and began to write what would become of much more importance than he thought.

_To Elizabeth DeWitt. _

**A/N: So, how was that? Yes, the song lyrics are like the segways between different areas of each chapter. Anyway, thank you for reading, and please review!**


	3. A Little Party Never Killed Nobody

**A/N: Hey guys! I would like to tell you that yes, the 4th chapter of Silver Kastet, Rubies, and Stars is completed-I only have a few more edits to do. Anyway, I don't own the song used, or Scotty and Sulu. Enjoy, and please review!**

There was music echoing through the air that floated over to my property from Mr. E's throughout the summer nights. Sometimes I'd lie awake in my bed, my hands behind my pillow, letting the music flow through my moonlit room. In his gardens men and girls would flit around like butterflies among the whisperings and the liquor and the stars. In the afternoon, I would sit on the grass in my backyard and watch Mr. E's guests dive from the tower of his raft, or talking on his beach, or I'd watch his 2 motor boats slit the waters of the Sound. On weekends more cars would stop at his estate than I've ever seen or will again, bringing people in to party from 9 to maybe 2 in the morning, while his station wagon scampered like a brisk yellow bug to meet all trains. And on Mondays, 17 servants toiled all day with mops and scrubbing brushes and hammers and garden shears, repairing the ravages of the night before.

Every Friday morning, from maybe 8-9, 5 crates of fruits arrived from a fruiterer in the city-every Monday these same fruits left his back door in a pyramid of peels and pulpless halves. At least once every 2 nights caterers came with several hundred feet of canvas and enough colored lights to somehow turn a gigantic estate into the universe's largest Christmas tree. Buffet tables covered with every type of good food one can imagine were all around. In the main hall, there was even a bar with the liquor flowing freely. Ice statues of swans and roses would appear in his yard maybe about once every 2 weeks.

Although the lavish lifestyle of Mr. E drew me in more than any desire I've ever experienced in my introverted life, I did not seem to be able to join the masses that would gather there. I much preferred it to be a fly on the wall, witness it all from my yard, a simple spectator. I loved to simply sit in the grass and watch the antics of everyone on his lawns. I'd been waved over many a time, but I always shook my head politely and became invisible again.

I think that on the first night I went to Mr. E's house I was one of the few people who had actually been _invited._ You were not simply invited to Mr. E's-you just went. They got into automobiles from the city or even Westchester and somehow ended up at Mr. E's door. Once there they'd meet someone who 'knew' Mr. E-or a regular at his parties-and after that they conducted themselves according to the rules of behavior associated with an amusement park. Mostly they came and went without meeting Mr. E at all, came for the music with a simplicity of heart that counted as an invitation. The honor of my presence would be entirely Mr. E's, the note sent to me read. I also learned that he had seen me several times and that yes, Vronsky had been telling the truth when he said he'd heard of me from Mr. E.

And so, the very next night after I went to Meg's (I'd slept until 5 that day), I crossed the lawn to Mr. E's property, dressed in a white dress with a black bow in the front. I mingled with people I'd simply know in the moment and forget right after as I moved through the grass. Here and there I'd see a face I'd witnessed from my unkept lawn. I was immediately struck by the number of young men with British accents dotted about; all well-dressed, all suave-looking, and all talking in low, earnest voices to pretty, rich-looking American girls. I guess they might've either been selling something-make-up or automobiles or whatever-or they were just being gold-digging boys. They were at least agonizingly aware of the easy money in the vicinity and convinced that it was theirs for a few words in the right key. Thankfully, I've had enough practice staying hidden so only about 3 of them noticed me and before they could advance I was gone.

As soon as I arrived I made an attempt to find Mr. E, but the people I asked looked at me as if my eyes had turned purple and denied so vehemently any knowledge of his movements that I slunk off in embarrassment in the direction of the bar-the only place where a single woman could linger without looking vulnerable and alone. I was approaching the steps up to the estate when Vronsky came out of the house and leaned on a pillar at the head of the marble stairs. Welcome or not, I found it necessary to attach myself to someone before I'd start talking with random strangers.

"Vronsky!" I called, skipping up the steps to meet him. "I thought you might be here," he responded with a smirk as I ascended the stairs. "I remembered you live next door-" Suddenly he held up a finger to silence me as two younger men who stopped at the foot of the steps. "Hello!" They called, one with a Scottish accent. "Sorry you didn't win." This had been in a poker tournament the week before. "You don't know who we are," said the Chinese one, "but we met you here about a month ago." "You've slicked your hair more since them," remarked Vronsky, and then he introduced me to the two men, whose names were Sulu and Scotty. With my arm in Vronsky's, we descended the steps and sauntered around the garden, somehow got martinis in our free hands, and ended up sitting at a table with the two men and 3 other women that were older than me by about 4 years. "Do you come here often?" Sulu asked me. I shook my head. "This is my first time here." The man smiled. "The last one was the one Scotty here and I met Vronsky at." "I like to come," Scotty said-he had brown hair. "I never care what I do, so I always have a good time. When I was here last I tore my coat and he asked me my name and address-3 days later I got a package with a new 3-piece suit in it."

"Did you keep it?" Vronsky inquired. "Oh, yes. I was going to wear it tonight, but it was too big in the waist and had to be fixed up." "There's something funny about a man that'd do something like that," Sulu said eagerly. "He doesn't seem to want trouble with anyone." "Who doesn't?" I asked, a bit lost. I was beginning to feel suffocated, surrounded by so many strangers in the midst of getting 'wasted'. "Mr. E. Somebody told me-" Scotty looked around suspiciously as we all leaned in. "I was told he killed a man once named Joseph Buquet." Apparently it was testimony to the romantic speculation he inspired that there were whispers about him from those who had found little that it was necessary to whisper about in this world. Our conversation was interrupted as dinner was served, and then Vronsky invited me to join his party on the other side of the garden. He had escorted an innocent blonde girl, not unlike Meg (except she wore pink), an obviously smitten one of about 19 who clearly expected that soon Vronsky would succumb to her charms.

"Let's get out of here," Vronsky murmured in my right ear, taking my elbow and leading me up. "this is much too polite for me." As I put down my fork, he explained that we were going to meet the host: seeing as I'd never met him, and he could tell it was making me uneasy. The blonde girl nodded in a melancholy way, and off Vronsky and I went. First we checked the bar, which was crowded, but Mr. E was not there. He wasn't on the steps, in the garden, or the veranda. I spotted (after we checked the beach) an large imposing door, and when I pushed it open I gasped. This was the library. I think it was even bigger than my library in Columbia! It was very Gothic, panelled with dark brown wood. I loved it immediately.

Vronsky tensed as a man suddenly jumped down onto a table from the second floor, which wasn't too high up-maybe about 7 feet. He winced but quickly smiled at us, which I returned eagerly while Vronsky responded to with a disturbed look. The stranger wore a brown suit with pinstripes, and he had a blue shirt and a red tie. He also had brown hair, much like Booker, with brown eyes and a pair of square-shaped glasses. He looked us up and down as Vronsky slowly put his arm through mine again. "What do you think?" he asked. "Of what?" I responded. I liked this man. He seemed quite quirky. "All these books! They're all real! All of them!" Vronsky began to quietly walk backwards out of the room, but I shook out of his grasp and skipped up to the strange man in the brown suit. "What's your name?" "Oh! I'm the Doctor!" he exclaimed, shaking my hand wildly. I noticed Vronsky had somehow creeped back to the door and was silently turning the knob. "And what's your name?" "I'm Elizabeth, and my friend there is Vronsky!" Vronsky froze and put up his hand as a silent gesture of salute. The Doctor nodded at him enthusiastically and went back to talking about the books. Apparently this 'Mr. E' did not seem to be the type to have real books that weren't simply for show. I decided that I liked this Mr. E. He seemed to be so much more than anyone really thought.

"Uhm, Elizabeth?" Vronsky called. I turned. "We really ought to be going. Mr. E could be anywhere by now." Here the Doctor surprised me. "You're looking for Mr. E?" Vronsky and I exchanged a glance of surprise. "Do you know where he is?" I asked. "No, but what I can tell you is that the only way you'll see him is if he sends for you. You'll be wasting your time if you spend the night looking for that one." Vronsky opened the door and rather frantically gestured me to follow him. I looked at the Doctor hesitantly. "Oh, go have fun, Miss Elizabeth. This is your first time here, don't waste it in a library." I smiled brightly at him and walked back to where Vronsky was holding open the door. With a quick nod to the Doctor, he shut the door hastily behind us and was almost running back to the party. "Why did you want to leave so bad? Didn't you like the Doctor?" I asked of Vronsky. "Oh-uh-yes! Of course I liked the Doctor! Come, now, forget it, let's just dance."

_Make up your mind sweet baby  
Right here, right now's all we got  
A little party never killed nobody  
So we gon' dance until we drop, drop  
A little party never killed nobody  
Right here, right now's all we got!_

"I beg your pardon."

I brushed a stray lock of hair from my face and turned to face a man in butler's clothing. Vronsky swept in from talking with some friends of his to dance with me again, but drew back when he saw the butler. "Miss DeWitt?" "That would be me, sir." "I beg your pardon, Miss DeWitt, but Mr. E would like to speak with you." I saw Vronsky's eyebrows almost reach his hairline as I blinked in disbelief at the butler. "Alone." The man stated. I opened my mouth, closed it, muttered to Vronsky I'd be back soon, and followed the butler into the mansion.

He led me up a large spiral staircase made of a chocolate brown, smooth wood and pristine white marble. The amount of people in our path decreased as we ascended and the butler took me down a private-looking, dark hallway. Soon we came to an impressive oak door. The butler opened it for me, bowed as I went in, and said in the direction of an uptight-looking dark leather chair "Miss DeWitt is here," and shut the door behind him. I flinched at the impact and stood there awkwardly, waiting for the 'Mr. E' in the chair to say something. "Ah. Yes. Miss DeWitt, sit down please." A black-clad arm gestured to the chair across from his, and somehow I ended up sitting in it uncomfortably and face-to-face with the man of mystery himself.

The first thing that struck me was that there was only one splash of color on his clothes, (which consisted of an expensive-looking black suit and matching shoes), and that was a scarlet red tie. The other thing I noted (with a bit more of a shock) was that he wore a mask that covered half of his face. That was odd. I'd never met anyone that wore a mask like that. I don't think I'd even READ of a person that did that. The most startling thing, I noted, was the unmasked half of his head. He had slicked back black hair, rather pale skin, a bony face, and surprisingly bright green eyes. I smiled at him as friendly as I could do (without trying to betray the immense amount of questions that were running through my mind), and he seemed to try and do the same but gave up.

"How do you do, Miss DeWitt? Are you enjoying the party?" I laughed, albeit a bit nervously. "Yes, sir. And please-call me Elizabeth." When people addressed me as 'Miss DeWitt' in _that _tone of voice, it sounded so-well, uptight and formal. I didn't really like it much. "Oh. Elizabeth." "Yes." We sat there a little awkwardly before Mr. E sighed. "Forgive me, Miss DeWi-Elizabeth. I am afraid I am not a very good host." "Oh, it's fine-it's a good party anyway. Mr. E...may I ask you a question?" "Yes." "Do you know a man, by any chance, named Vronsky?" At the mention of Vronsky's name, his eyes lit up. "Vronsky? Yes, I suppose you could say we're...friends." "He was the one who told me about you," I replied. Mr. E raised an eyebrow. "And what did he say?" I simply shrugged and leaned back in the chair. "That you're my fabulously rich next-door neighbor who throws lavish parties almost every night." He gave a slight chuckle and gazed out the floor-to ceiling windows at the party still going on outside. "Why did you call me here, sir?" I asked him. Seriously, at this point I was rather confused, and I saw, outside on Mr. E's lawn, Vronsky looking up at our window a bit worriedly.

"The truth is, Miss Elizabeth, I don't much like parties. I thought since we're neighbors that we should get acquainted." I blinked. If he wanted that, why on Earth hadn't he just gone down to his own party and meet me there instead. "Oh." Vronsky was now literally staring at me gesturing frantically in curiousity from below. Mr. E saw him and smirked. "You came with him?" "I met up with him here, that's all. I met him about a week ago. At my friend Christine Daae's home," I replied casually.

At the mention of the words _Christine Daae_, an astounding change in Mr. E took place. His back straightened, his eyes went wider than I thought possible of a human being, his mouth opened slightly, and his face first turned pink and then white. "Did you just say..." he whispered. "You're friends with...Christine Daae?" "Yes, sir, why do you ask?" He didn't respond, only gazed out the window semi-dreamily, a look of euphoria on his face. "Vronsky will worry if you don't go back soon, Miss Elizabeth." I looked out the window, annoyed at the prospect of him not answering me, and saw that he was right. Vronsky wasn't gesturing at us anymore, instead he was talking with some young women and glancing up every few seconds, with the girls mirroring his movements. "Oh. Yes. Right. It was nice meeting you, Mr. E." "The pleasure is mine." I stood up and began to walk to the door. "One more thing." I didn't face him, with one foot outside the room and one in. "If there is anything you want, just ask for it, Miss Elizabeth. I hope to see you again soon." I smiled brightly, even though he couldn't see it, and shut the door behind me. My last image of him after that talk was him slowly standing up, as if just realizing he could walk.

_All we got, all we got, all we got, all we got  
Glad that you made it, look around  
You don't see one person sitting down  
They got drinks in their hands,  
And the room's a bust  
At the end of the night maybe you'll find love_

It was now almost midnight. Scotty swung me around to the beat, and I saw Vronsky dancing with the little blonde girl he'd arrived with. People dancing with those they'd just met, older couples holding each other fashionably and keeping in the corners, and a great number of single people dancing about. I broke away from Scotty as the song ended and began to dance all by myself in the center. People joined in, others clapped me on. Vronsky left the blonde girl and joined the circle. It was perfect. A celebrated tenor by the name of Piangi was singing in Italian, and a notorious soprano named Carlotta had sung right before, and people were pulling 'stunts' all around the garden, fireflies flitting around our heads.

I was twirling around in circles with my arms outstretched, surrounded by admirers and mirrors of the moment, when I saw Mr. E staring at me, gobsmacked. "Hello!" I cried as he gave a nervous little half-smile. "Oh, isn't this wonderful?" I was drunk on the moment (and champagne) as I suddenly grabbed his hands and said so others couldn't hear us, "Dance with me, Mr. E!" His mouth opened, closed, and he stared at me, mystified and amused and disturbed all at once. "I...I don't...I don't dance, Miss Elizabeth." I began to pull him towards where I was twirling about earlier. "I know you can-and please, just this once. Please!" He sighed, confused, and responded with "Alright, but make it quick."

And so there we were, in the center of the entire crowd, dancing to some deep music that nobody really cared who sung it. It was one of the most beautiful yet awkward moments in my life. Because Mr. E and I were just holding hands and swaying around rather clumsily, and I think I saw Vronsky laughing at us. We started pulling on each other's hands, then we were spinning, then we were doing some obscure moves, dancing around the garden without a care, faceless in the crowd of people doing the exact same different thing. I was laughing, and he seemed to be enjoying himself, with an unsure little smile. I pulled him up from where I'd dipped him as the song ended and people erupted in applause. I was breathless with laughter, and he smiled at me before putting his hand on my shoulder and throwing a handful of glitter into the stars, and we all looked up in laughter, caught up in the moment, I caught up in his revire.

_Just one night's all we got_

_Just one night's all we got_

_What do you think? You rock?_  
_Are you ready?_

_A little party never killed nobody_  
_So we gon' dance until we drop, drop_  
_A little party never killed nobody_  
_Right here, right now's all we got _

Vronsky found himself sitting right where Elizabeth had a few hours before, in the dark leather chair, this time watching his friend pace. All his guests were gone, and Vronsky had helped an exhausted Elizabeth into her home not even 15 minutes ago and had to almost carry her up the stairs. "Why didn't you tell me you knew her?" His friend demanded. "I didn't know you knew her," the blonde man replied, taking a drag on his cigarette as the other man stopped pacing. "Vronsky! You met me that day in the spring, in that car." "...that was _you?!" _"Yes, it was. Christine introduced me to you, remember?" "Well, excuse me if the only way I've known you since I came to your first party was Mr. E and not by your real name!" "Fair enough." The two men sat in silence for a few moments before Vronsky broke the silence. "So what are you going to do?" "I don't know," the other man replied, resuming his pacing. "Why not a nice luncheon in New York? You can take her to some nice place and then maybe go see a play-" "NO!" The dark-haired man exploded, and Vronsky went rigid in his chair.

The green-eyed man sighed. "Excuse me, Vronsky. I don't want to do anything out of the way-I want her to see my house." Vronsky thought for a few moments, then stood up and walked to the window. His friend frowned, and then realized what he was looking at. The cozy little house across the way, with all the windows darkened and its one inhabitant clearly asleep. "And what exactly are you planning?" "Have Elizabeth help you-use her house to draw Christine here. See, what should be done, is to ask her to help you." "And what if the young lady refuses?" "I can convince her if she does. Anyway, have her invite Christine to her house for tea. And you'll be there too. Then for sure Christine will notice your home." "And after that?" Vronsky spread his hands. "You let things take their course, Mr. E. You just take what comes, and pray for the best."

Vronsky's friend quietly observed the silent house across the lawn while thinking over the plan the younger man had proposed. It seemed to work. Even now, he could only hope. Only hope that Elizabeth DeWitt would agree with their plan.

**A/N: There! How was that? I hope you guys liked it, anything I can do to improve it? Thanks for reading, and please review!**


	4. Behind The Sea

**A/N: First off, PhantomLover118 and kpw1998, thank you for your reviews! Second, I saw Gatsby on the day it came out, May 10th, right after school. It was absolutely amazing, and I completely condone going and seeing it! Anyway, Behind The Sea belongs to Panic! At the Disco, and please enjoy!**

At 9 o' clock, one morning late in July, I was sitting inside my rather messy house, in a large, comfortable chair, reading _Pride and Prejudice _by the bright sunlight. My peace was interrupted, however, when I heard a burst of melody from a car horn right outside my house. I got up with a start, put my book down on the chair, and ran to the door. Opening it, I found Mr. E's gorgeous car on my rocky drive, and leaning on the dashboard, Mr. E himself. This was the first time he'd visited me, even though I'd gone to two of his parties, had even helped the people in his inner circle bring him more guests, and, at his invitation, made frequent use of the beach on his property.

"Good morning, Miss Elizabeth. You are having lunch with me today and I thought we should ride up together."

I blinked at his statement in surprise. Evidently, he thought I was staring at his car, which was entirely possible. "It's pretty, isn't it, Miss Elizabeth!" It was a deep, dark shade of obsidian, smooth and shiny. I could almost believe that it really was obsidian and the damn thing was forged in magma itself. And somehow, less than 5 minutes later, I ended up in that obsidian car, driving to the city, riding shotgun with Mr. E while holding onto my hat for dear life as the wind whipped around us. Unfortunately, we hadn't even reached West Egg before Mr. E began leaving his elegant sentences unfinished and occasionally tightening his fists. "Look here, Miss Elizabeth," he broke out fiercely, "what's your opinion of me anyhow?"

A little overwhelmed, I started babbling generalized evasions before he interrupted me. "Well, I figure you should know something about my life. I do not wish for you to get the wrong idea from all these stories you hear." _So. He knows about the whispers in his hollowed halls. What, has Vronsky been keeping him informed? _"I'll tell you God's truth," he half-shouted at me over the wind and blasting car horns. "God's truth about myself." _How about God's truth on HOW FAST WE'RE GOING. _"I am the son of some wealthy people out in France, who, unfortunately, are all dead now." _Unfortunately. Well, you don't seem too torn up about it. _"I was brought up there but educated in America, because none of my ancestors had studied here." He looked at me sideways, and I knew why Vronsky thought he was a liar. He hurried the phrase "educated in America", or swallowed it, or choked on it, as though it had bothered him before. And with this doubt, his whole statement fell to pieces, and I wondered if there wasn't something a little sinister about him, after all.

"Where out in France?" I questioned him casually.

"Saint-Martin-de-Boscherville."

"Oh. I see."

"My family all died and I came into a good deal of money." His voice was solemn, as if the memory of that sudden existence of something I never had-a family-haunted him. For a minute I thought he was acting, but a look into his eyes convinced me otherwise. "After that, I lived in all the capitals of Europe and the nearby Asian countries-Rome, Madrid, Istanbul-collecting jewels, chiefly rubies, writing my music, painting and sketching-I even built a state-of-the-art glass chamber for the Shah of Persia-things for myself until the world is ready to see them, and trying to forget something very sad that had happened to me long ago."

I somehow was able to restrain my hysterical, incredulous laughter. The phrases he used were so transparent that they evoked no image except that of a turbaned 'character' leaking sawdust at every pore as he pursed a tiger through the Bois de Boulogne. "Then came the war, Miss Elizabeth." He touched his mask gingerly. "It was a great relief, and I tried very hard to die, but instead got-well..." he gestured at his mask. "Scars," I murmured. "You don't have to talk about it." He sighed with relief and continued with his story. "I accepted a commission as first lieutenant when it began. In the Argonne forest I took down two machine-gun detachments so far forward that there was a half mile gap on either side of us..." Mr. E went on with his war stories, and I listened on, enchanted by his air of mystery and repulsed by the fact that it was all an elaborate cover-up. Whether it was all true or no, I had to give Mr. E credit. He was a beautiful storyteller, even if he was half yelling at me as we sped on towards Manhattan about 4 times faster than the speed limit and I was leaning back with my eyes half-shut and my arms in the air behind me.

_A daydream spills from my corked head  
Breaks free of my wooden neck  
Left a nod over sleeping waves  
Like bobbing bait for bathing cod  
Floating flocks of candled swans  
Slowly drift across wax pond_

"...every Allied government gave me a decoration-even Montenegro, little Montenegro down on the Adriatic Sea!" _"Montenegro?" _I repeated stupidly. He nodded. "Indeed." He lifted up his words and nodded at them-with a unique little smile. It appreciated fully the chain of national circumstances that had elicited this tribute from Montenegro's little heart. I suddenly had a fiery, passionate desire to visit it. Mr. E reached into his pocket and a piece of metal slung on a ribbon was placed in my palm. "That is the one from Montenegro."

Before I had a chance to read it, the damn thing fell out of my hand and fell to the floor as Mr. E swerved and boosted up his speed to avoid some partygoers and a funeral hearse. "MR. E!" I screamed as we nearly hit a convertible being driven in the direction we'd just left by teenage boys who honked the horn 3 times as we swerved to a stop. "Erik," Mr. E growled. I didn't look at him-I was trying too hard to catch my breath. Suddenly, my chin was grabbed-firm but gentle, and Mr. E forced me to look at him. "It's Erik," he said again. I blinked, and then the car was going again and the piece of metal was back in my hand.

To my surprise, the thing had an authentic look. "Orderi de Danilo, Montenegro, Nicholas Rex," I murmured. Mr. E reached over and flipped it over. "Major Erik Destler, For Valour Extraordinary." I continued. "That's right," Mr. E said, turning back to the road-thank God! He stayed that way for a few minutes (still speeding) as I sat there, staring blankly into space in awe. Could it all be true? I saw him speaking with the Shah of Persia; I saw him opening a chest of rubies to ease, with their crimson-lighted depths, the gnawings of a broken heart. "I am going to make a large request of you today, Miss Elizabeth," he said abruptly, making me start and turn to face him again. "So I thought you ought to know something about me. I didn't want you to think I was just some masked mystery. You see, I usually find myself among strangers because I drift here and there trying to forget the sad thing that happened to me." He hesitated. "You'll hear about it later today."

"At lunch?"

"No, this evening. Vronsky will be taking you to dinner, and he has kindly consented to speak with you over this matter." I had no idea what 'this matter' was, but I was more annoyed than interested. Vronsky hadn't asked me to dinner to discuss someone else's private affairs. I was sure that the request was going to be something utterly fantastic, and for a second I was sorry I'd ever set foot on his overpopulated lawn. Erik said no more as we approached the Queensbro bridge. With fenders spread like wings, we scattered light through half-Astoria. Only half, because as we twisted among pillars of the elevated I spotted a police officer following us. "We've got company!" I shouted to Erik over the din. "Alright, Miss Elizabeth. Show this to him," he said simply, putting a white card into my hand, while thankfully slowing down. I waved the card before the man's eyes.

"Right you are," the police officer said, tipping his cap. "Know you next time, Mr. E. Excuse _me!" _I handed Erik back the white card and he slipped it back into his pocket. "What was that?" "I was able to do the commissioner a favor once, and he sends me a Christmas card every year." I sat back, impressed, appalled, and indifferent all at once. Impressed at Mr. E-Erik's ability to get anyone on his side, appalled at the thought that the _commissioner of the police _could be swayed so easily by a smooth-talking walking mystery, indifferent because I ought to have predicted this of Erik.

Over the great bridge, with the sunlight through the grinders making a constant flicker upon the moving cars, with the city rising up across the river in white heaps and sugar lumps all built with a wish out of non-olfactory money. The city seen from the Queensbro bridge is always the city seen for the first time, in its first wild promise of all the mystery and the beauty in the world. Another hearse passed us, and the mourners looked out at us with tragic eyes, and I was glad that the sight of Erik's one-of-a-kind obsidian car was included in their somber holiday. As we crossed Blackwell's Island a limousine passed us, driven by a white chauffeur, in which sat 3 black men, 2 white ones, and a white girl. I giggled girlishly as the yolks of their eyeballs rolled towards us in haughty rivalry.

_Anything can happen now that we're over the bridge, _I thought dreamily as I leaned back and closed my eyes to the sun; _anything at all..._

Even Erik could happen, without any particular wonder.

_The men all played along  
To marching drums  
And boy did they have fun  
Behind the sea  
They sang (hey!)  
So our matching legs  
Are marching clocks  
And we're all too small  
To talk to God  
Yes, we're all too smart  
To talk to God _

Roaring noon. Erik led me into an inconspicuous, small diner and then took me to the back of the room and knocked thrice on the wall. A small peephole opened, exposing two eyes. Erik muttered something, then the wall slid open-much to my fascination-and we were ushered inside. This was a speakeasy-I'd only been to 2 in my life beforehand, and both times were around maybe 15 minutes. I'd never had lunch in one, no. It was smoky and dim, full of laughter and life all at once. I saw people from all walks of life, bartenders pouring drinks freely, and a group of performing young girls about my age up front.

Erik pulled me towards the front, to a table where one man sat, speaking to a waiter. Erik tapped the man on the shoulder as we stopped behind him. He turned, suddenly laughed and held out his arms. "My man," he said jokingly. Erik let out a sharp, short burst of laughter before helping me to my chair and sitting down between his friend and I. "Miss DeWitt, this is my friend Mr. Khan." A stately, sturdy Persian man raised his head and studied me with beady eyes. Finding me to his liking, he nodded solemnly and I flashed a grin at him. "Highballs?" the head waiter asked us. "This is a nice restaurant here," Mr. Khan said, looking at the art deco on the ceiling. "But I like across the street better!"

"Yes, three highballs," agreed Erik, and then to Mr. Khan. "It's too hot over there, Nadir. Too much like Persian weather for my taste." "Hot and small-yes," said Mr. Khan, "but full of memories?" "What place is that?" I inquired. "The old Metropole," Erik said to me.

"The old Metropole," brooded Mr. Khan gloomily. "Filled with faces dead and gone. Filled with friends gone now forever. I can't forget so long as I live the night they shot Lefevre there. It was six of us at the table, and Lefevre had eat and drunk a lot all evening. When it was almost morning the waiter came up to him with a funny look and says somebody wants to speak to him outside. 'All right,' says Lefevre, and begins to get up, and I pulled him down in his chair. 'Let the bastards come in here if they want you, Lefevre, but don't you, so help me, move outside this room.'It was four o'clock in the morning then, and if we'd of raised the blinds we'd of seen daylight." "Did he go?" I asked innocently.

"Sure he went." Mr. Khan's eyes flashed at me curiously. "He turned around in the door and says: 'Don't let that waiter take away my coffee!' Then he went out on the sidewalk, and they shot him three times in his full belly and drove away." The two men studied my face, but I stayed calm. What? It wasn't all that shocking. In Columbia, I probably saw over 40 men die much more gory deaths then the one Mr. Khan described. I saw both of their eyebrows raise, and then I turned to them and replied, "Was this the case of the four men being electrocuted?" Mr. Khan nodded deeply. "Almost there, Miss DeWitt. Five, with Reyer." His nostrils turned to me in an interested way. "Do you live on West Egg?" "Yes, right next to Mr...E." He laughed harshly. "I know his name too. Wait...so _you're _the Miss Elizabeth he never shuts up about!" I raised both eyebrows and turned to Erik with fire in my eyes. This was new. And _what _exactly had he said? Erik opened his mouth to respond, seeming rather flustered (or maybe it was the awful lighting playing tricks on my eyes) but then chicken and salad was set in front of us and all was forgotten.

You know, I never found out what exactly Erik had said.

Anyway, as we were finishing up, Erik cleared his throat and put his hand on my shoulder. "Look here, Miss Elizabeth," he said, leaning toward me, "I'm afraid I made you a bit angry in the car this morning." I sighed. "The only reason I may have appeared angry...please never drive me anywhere again." At this, Mr. Khan burst into laughter while Erik opened his mouth, closed it, and snickered. "I'm not one for mysteries," I went on, "and I don't get why Vronsky has to tell me instead of you, if it's your request." "Well, the thing is, Miss Elizabeth...he knows more on the matter then I do." "Oh. Alright." Suddenly, Mr. Khan stood up as he looked at his watch. "I have to make a telephone call to Chicago. If you two will excuse me..." And then Erik and I were left alone at the table. "When I had the pleasure of making Nadir's acquaintance, I discovered quite the character," Erik began to explain. "He's quite known around New York-he stays around Broadway a lot." "Oh! Is he an actor?" Erik shook his head and smiled mysteriously. "He's a gambler." Erik looked around suspiciously and then whispered in my ear-

"He's the man who fixed the 1919 World Series."

I choked on my drink. I did know that the 1919 World Series was fixed, but I thought it was a whole ring of people who did it. Not just one man! "Fixed it?" I repeated dumbly. He nodded. "Fixed it." "Well, how'd he manage that?" "It's all the opportunity, I suppose." "How come he isn't in jail?" "Nadir? They can't get him, Miss Elizabeth. He's a smart man." For dessert we were served chocolate cake, and Erik insisted on paying. As the waiter brought his change, I spotted a familiar face across the room. "Come on, Mr. E," I said as he pocketed his change, "I've got to say hello to someone."

As Raoul saw us, he jumped up and grabbed my hand. "Where on Earth have you been?" he questioned eagerly. "Christine's furious because you haven't called up." I giggled in spite of myself before remembering I was not alone. "Mr. E," I said, turning promptly to Erik, "this is Mr. de Chagny." At the words _de Chagny, _Erik's shoulders tensed and he looked as if he was in great pain. But he shook Raoul's hand cordially all the same. "How've you been, anyhow?" demanded Raoul of me. "How'd you happen to come up this far for lunch?" "I was with Mr. E." I turned to Erik, but he was no longer there.

_Toast the fine folks casting silver crumbs  
To us from the dock  
Jinxed things ringing as they leak  
Through tiny cracks in the boardwalk  
Scarecrow, now it's time to hatch  
Sprouting sons and ageless daughters _

One June day in 1919-

(said Vronsky that evening, slouching in his straight chair at the Waldorf-Astoria while I leaned forward eagerly with my chin in my hands)-I was walking down the streets of Paris, going nowhere in particular, really. The war had just ended the day before, we were all in celebration. There wasn't much to do but have fun and wait to be shipped home. My uniform was dirty and tattered-all except my boots, they were as shiny as ever. I remember seeing girls giggling from cafes and large estates as my friends and I went by and all their parents taking them away. The most common commonplace for the soldiers was the Palais Garnier, and the girl everybody liked who worked there was Christine Daae. She was just 18, a year older than me, and by far one of the prettiest girls anyone'd ever hope to meet. She dressed in white, and all day long excited young officers from all of the Allied troops stationed in Paris demanded the privilege of monopolizing her that night.

_"And let me guess," Elizabeth interrupted. "You were one of them." Vronsky's eyes widened and he shook his head violently. "Don't lie," his companion giggled. "Yes, well, ONCE, and never again," he grumbled. "Sorry, sorry. Continue." _

When I came to explore the Garnier that evening, I went up to the roof, as I had never been. I walked around a statue and saw her sitting with a lieutenant I'd never seen before, holding a red rose with a black ribbon tied around the stem. I didn't interrupt them, of course-I just stood near the edge looking at the sunset and hoping they didn't start snogging or something. "Hello, Vronsky," she called unexpectedly. (She knew my name by now-the one time I'd asked her was on a dare ((I had no desire to do so)) and we became friends quickly afterwards). I was flattered that she wished to speak to me. She asked me if I would be so kind as to inform her friends that she would not be going out tonight? I said yes, and then I noticed the man beside her. Bandages covered up the entirety of the left half of his face, but he was still looking at Christine in a way that struck me as something out of a novel, and since it seemed so outer-worldly romantic, the incident has stuck with me ever since. His name was Erik Destler, and I didn't lay eyes on him for four years-even after we became friends at West Egg I didn't know it was him.

Christine moved to Long Island next summer. In June she married Raoul de Chagny of Paris, an old childhood sweetheart. He came with a hundred family members and friends, and rented an entire floor of the Plaza, and the day before they were married, he gave Christine a string of pearls straight from Japan. I was officiating-

_Vronsky blinked as Elizabeth suddenly was roaring with laughter. "Oh, what is it NOW?" She wiped her eyes, giggling hysterically the entire time. "Ah, ah, I'm sorry-it's just...you...a minister...BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Vronsky pouted and slunk back. "I do have officiating rights. I decided to become one because a few months earlier a friend of mine wanted me to do so for his wedding." He sighed as he saw Elizabeth was still laughing and waited for her to calm down.  
_

I was walking down the hall when I heard banging from her room. I go in, half an hour before the bridal dinner, and there she is lying on the bed in her pink dress-and drunker than a sailor. She had a bottle of Sauterne in one hand and a letter in the other. The envelope was at my feet, and it had a red wax skull seal. "'Gradulate me," she muttered. "Never had a drink before, but oh how I do enjoy it." "Miss Daae? What's the matter?" Elizabeth, I'll confess-and don't laugh-I was scared. I've dealt with drunk burly men before, but drunk sopranos? That was new. I'd never seen a girl like that before. "'ere, M'seur Vronskeh." She groped around in the wastebasket until she came up with the string of pearls. She threw them at me-the string broke on the floor all at my feet-and moaned: "Take 'em downstairs and give 'em back to whoever they belong to. Tell 'em all Lotte's change' her mine. Say-Lotte's change' her mine!"

She began sobbing-she cried and cried. I prayed to God the ballet mistress from the opera house-who was her surrogate mother-would come soon, as I kept calling for her while trying to comfort Christine all at once. When she came, she brought with her one of the ballet rats, and they both locked the door, instructed me to restring the pearls, and took Christine off to the bathroom to feel better. I had the pearls back to normal before she was even done with her bath. I sat there a little awkwardly until I saw something bright red and dark green among the shoved-aside sheets. I took it out, and it was a rose-wilted, that was for sure-with a flat black ribbon tied around the string. Half an hour later, when we walked out of the room, the pearls were around her neck and the incident was over. Next day at 6 o' clock she lost the name Daae to de Chagny. Well, anyway, at Erik's party that I met you at, he told me that you were the first active link to Christine he'd found in five years. It was only then that I connected him to the man on the roof the day after war ended.

_Don't you know_  
_Don't you know_  
_That those watermelon smiles_  
_Just can't ripen underwater_  
_Just can't ripen underwater _

When Vronsky finished his tale, he gave me his coat and we walked through Central Park through the twilight. "It was a strange coincidence," I said. "Not at all, Elizabeth." "Why not?" "Erik bought that house so that Christine would be just across the bay. He even decorated it so it looks just like her old home in Paris." Then it had not been merely the stars to which he had aspired on that June night. He came alive to me, delivered suddenly from the womb of his purposeless splendor. "He wishes to know," continued Vronsky, "if you'll invite Christine to tea at your house sometime soon and then have him come over." The modesty of the demand shook me. He had waited five years and bought a mansion where he dispensed starlight to casual moths—so that he could 'come over' some afternoon to a stranger's garden.

"Did I have to know all this before he could ask such a little thing?"

"He's afraid, he's waited so long. He thought you might be offended. You see, he's a regular tough underneath it all."

Something worried me.

"Why didn't he ask you to arrange a meeting?"

"He wants her to see his house," he explained. "And your house is right next door."

"Oh!"

"I think he half expected her to wander into one of his parties, some night," went on Vronsky, "but she never did. Then he began asking people casually if they knew her, and you were the first one he found. It was that night he sent for me after his dance, and you should have heard the elaborate way he worked up to it. Of course, I immediately suggested a luncheon in New York—and I thought he'd go mad: "'I don't want to do anything out of the way!' he kept saying. 'I want to see her right next door.' And Christine ought to have something in her life." "Does she want to see Erik?" "She's not supposed to know. Just invite her to tea." I stayed silent.

Was this right? To satisfy a man I just met with a sinful request? To bring in a charming, sweet Christine-DID I MENTION _MARRIED-_into the tempting, lavish lifestyle of a walking mystery? I didn't know. All I did know was I sure as hell wasn't going to find the answer walking in a dark park with a Russian-American soldier.

Then Vronsky put his arm around my shoulder and asked if we could go dancing tonight.

**A/N: MY GOD IS THAT THE LONGEST CHAPTER I'VE EVER WRITTEN! Anyway, how was it? Sorry for the delay. Thanks for reading, and please review, old sports!**


	5. Young and Beautiful

**A/N: This story requires me to write the longest chapters EVER...well, the next couple of ones will be shorter, I can assure you. Anyway, if you are an E/C fan this chapter is for you! Young and Beautiful belongs to Lana del Rey, and please read+review!**

As my taxi drove up to Erik and I's street, for a second I feared the entire thing was on fire. Then I saw that it was just Erik's estate, lit from tower to cellar like the world's biggest lighthouse. And may I say that this was around midnight? At first, I thought it was another party, a wild rout that had somehow become an all-out, every man for himself ultimate hide-and-seek. But then, as the cab began to slow, I realized that there was no sound but wind. It was all very eerie, and I nearly jumped when I saw Erik standing in the shadows of the outskirts of his property, watching my car stop at my door. As the cab groaned away, I half-ran half-skipped up to the very edge of my lawn and bounced on my toes, awaiting his approach.

"Your-your house looks like the World's Fair!" I cried, pointing up to it, "Or Coney Island!" "Does it? I have been glancing in some of the rooms." he said absently, looking up to it as he approached the very edge of _his _lawn, toe-to-toe with me now. "Let's go to Coney Island, Miss Elizabeth. In my car." I stared at him, trying to convey my exhaustion through my face and slumping posture. "It's too late," I groaned. "Well then, do you suppose I can play you some music? I just finished writing a piece I've been working on all summer." "Erik, sir, please-I need to go to bed. Vronsky took me dancing tonight, and I really need some rest." "Alright, alright." He stared at me, buzzing with a strange energy and a childlike eagerness that he tried to suppress and failed drastically. It was then, looking at such eagerness radiating from a hopeful man, I almost succumbed. Then I remembered that I might be getting involved in a very dangerous brawl. It was then that I made my choice.

"Vronsky told me everything," I began, finding the ground interesting and shifting my feet. "I-I'll-I'll call up Christine tomorrow and invite her to tea." I flinched. Where did THAT come from?! I had meant to tell him that no, thank you sir, I would _not _call up Christine tomorrow and invite her to tea because it is WRONG! He asked me something, and I blinked and looked up. "Excuse me?" "I said it's alright, I don't wish to cause you any trouble." "We-well, what day would suit you?" _Oh, sweet GOD what have I got into? _"What day would suit _you?" _"How about the day after tomorrow?" An ounce of his radiant eagerness faded away, and then, with reluctance- "I wish to get the grass cut." I looked at his lawn-the grass stalks were almost invisible

-and raised an eyebrow at him, to which he flinched. "There's another little thing," he said uncertainly, hesitating. "Oh-is it for the wrong date? I have a flexible schedule." "Oh, it isn't about that. At least-" I stood there for about 2 minutes waiting for the man to form a coherent sentence until finally- "Why, I thought-why, look here, Miss Elizabeth, do you work?" I blinked. What kind of question was that? "Um, I do some little odd jobs that I can find…why?" "I thought you didn't if you'll pardon my-you see, I carry on a little business on the side, a sort of, sideline, you understand. And I thought if you needed a job, this might interest you. It won't take up much of your time and you might pick up a nice bit of money. It happens to be a rather confidential sort of thing."

At the time, my God, was that offer tempting as hell. I wouldn't have to take out of Booker's pocket anymore for my house. And it could lead to me even becoming rich like Erik! I then crashed down to Earth when I realized that the look in his eyes was trying to mask uncertainty. The offer was for a service to be rendered. But Booker needed so much help and I needed to make something of myself…"Don't you worry, Miss Elizabeth, you wouldn't have to work with Nadir." I pursed my lips, looked down at our feet, and then looked up at him quickly. "I'll do it," I replied evenly, "but it's not for taking in Christine. That is a _favor, _Erik_._" He cocked his head at me, confused, but then smiled. He waited a moment longer, hoping I'd begin a conversation, but when I nearly fell asleep standing and fell on him, he unwillingly slunk home.

The evening had made me light-headed and happy, and I went to sleep like a rock that night. So I never knew whether or not Erik went to Coney Island or for how long he 'glanced into rooms' while his house burned on. I woke up the next morning with a yawn, stepped over the window, opened it, took in the view, the trees, the sun, the landscapers on my lawn-WAIT WHAT? I looked down in shock. Sure enough, a full team was at work renovating my yards-both front and back. One of the men saw me, waved, and shouted a good morning. I found out when I went outside that Erik had hired them and they had come at 7 in the morning to fix me up. I called up Christine and invited her to come to tea.

"Don't bring Raoul," I warned her.

"What?"

"Don't. Bring. Raoul."

"Who is 'Raoul'?" She asked innocently.

I spent that day making my house shine, making it as perfect as possible, until Erik called me and asked me to come to his house for business talk. We spent an hour there, and may I say that only about 15 minutes of it was 'business talk'-the poor man was shaking like a leaf, one day away from seeing Christine. After that, I went home awkwardly and continued cleaning my house crazily.

When the day agreed upon came around, it was raining heavily. I knew Erik would wish for me to make something nice out of myself for Christine-to be perfect just like everything else-so I wore a black and white dress with a bright red hair ribbon. (It struck me later on that I was wearing a reversed feminine version of Erik's attire when I met him.) At three o' clock, I noticed a solemn procession of black umbrellas coming from Erik's property. It was a line of about eleven men plus Erik himself, all in dark butler suits (except Erik, he wore a similar suit to the one I met him in, this time with a silver tie and white shirt), carrying assorted things. The ones in the back carried mass amounts of flowers, the ones in the middle carried assorted pastries and cakes, and the one in the front carried a black umbrella over Erik. I opened the door to let them in, and then slipped through to join a nervous Erik on the porch. He handed me a shaking plate and immediately asked me-

"Is everything alright?"

"The grass looks fine and my house is shining, if that's what you mean."

"What grass?" he inquired blankly. "Oh, yes, the grass in the yard." He looked out at it as I noticed the butlers continue with their procession, this time going out my back door, empty handed. I slipped inside as I heard him remark "Looks very good." I paused in the doorway of my living room in shock.

Short to say, my house had evolved into a giant rosebush.

"Erik?" "Yes?" "Scratch what I said earlier. My house is not shining, it's a botanical garden." He smiled in relief. "Have you got everything you need in the shape of-of tea?" "Let's go see." He hurriedly went in, and then I saw what I was holding and squealed. "I love éclairs!" I thought I heard Erik snicker inside. So we went to scrutinize the pastries, and I put the sacred éclairs solemnly in the middle of the coffee table. "Do you think they'll do?" I questioned him as I sat down among the roses. On impulse, I took a loose, bright red one and slipped it into my hair. "Of course!" He cried, bursting in. "They're fine!" He added hollowly, "…Miss Elizabeth."

The rain cooled at around 3:30 to a damp mist, through which tiny little raindrops would slip. Erik looked with vacant eyes through _Anna Karenina, _starting at the French tread that shook the kitchen floor, as if a series of invisible but alarming events but alarming happenings were taking place outside. Abruptly he stood up and began pacing as the clock ticked ever closer to four. I watched him, fascinated.

He looked at me and nodded. I pursed my lips, glanced down, looked back up, and nodded back. He leaned on the wall as I sat awkwardly among the roses. "Do you think we need more flowers?" I gave him a look. "I think this is what she'd wan-" "Yes, yes, I think so too." We sat and stood in place for a few more minutes before he sprang for the door. "Why are you going?" "It's too late. No one's coming to tea!" he cried aggressively. "Calm down!" I exclaimed. "It's only 7 to 4." As those words left my mouth, I heard the sound of a car crunching up my gravel driveway. I glanced back once at a shocked-looking Erik before scurrying out of the house to greet Christine.

Under the dripping bare lilac trees a large open car stopped at the drive. Christine's face, tipped sideways beneath a three-cornered royal blue hat, looked out at me with a bright ecstatic smile. "Is this absolutely where you live, dearest one?" The exhilarating ripple of her voice was a wild tonic in the rain. I had to follow the sound of it for a second, up and down, with my ear alone, before any words registered. A damp brown lock of hair lay like a dash of melted chocolate across her cheek, and her hand was wet with glistening drops as I took it to help her from the car.

"Are you playing matchmaker between me and some mysterious stranger, dear 'Liza," she said low in my ear, "or why did I have to come alone?" It took all my willpower to not start roaring with laughter. "That's the secret of Castle DeWitt. Tell your chauffeur to go far away and spend a few hours." "Come back in an hour, Benedict." Then in a grave murmur-"His name is Benedict."

"Does the gasoline affect his nose?" "I don't think so," she asked innocently. "Why?" We went inside and I watched as she eagerly went in the sitting room. I heard gasping, and lots of oohing and ahing as I nervously waited outside. Was everything alright with Erik? "Oh, 'Liza!" Christine gasped. I tensed even further. "Did you ransack a greenhouse?" I let out a breath of relief, confused beyond anything, and as I went in I heard her say softly, "She really _is _playing matchmaker." I held in a laugh and surveyed the room. Much to my shock, Erik was gone.

"Huh, that's odd." "What's odd?" She turned her head as there was a light dignified knocking at the front door. I told Christine to help herself to the pastries as I went out into the foyer and opened the door. Erik, almost as pale as his white mask, with his hands plunged into his coat pockets, was standing in a puddle of water on my porch and glaring tragically into my eyes. I rolled my eyes at his theatricality and stood aside to let the wet dog of a man inside. He went past me as if programmed to do so and vanished into the living room. I think that my heart was pounding harder than the rain as I shut the door. I walked nervously in the direction of the living room and found myself standing a bit to the right and behind Erik.

For half a minute there wasn't a sound. It was as if I was looking at a painting-Erik with his hands still in his pockets, and Christine holding an éclair mid-munch staring at him with a look of both extreme shock and…was that fear? I was not in the painting. I was just a mere observer. Christine bit off the piece of éclair, swallowed it, gave a weak laugh, and then said on a clear artificial note-

"I certainly am awfully glad to see you again."

Erik nodded stiffly. "And I'm certainly glad to see you as well."

I jumped in, portraying the part of the up-in-the-air, unknowing hostess with "You know each other?"

Erik swallowed visibly as Christine quietly finished the eclair. He sat as if pushed down on a chair across from the sofa, where Christine was now sitting sipping tea, avoiding his eyes. "Yes, we've met before." "5 years-" "Yes, five years!" Erik interrupted her hurriedly.

His eyes glanced momentarily at me, and his lips parted with an abortive attempt at a laugh. Luckily the clock took this moment to tilt dangerously at the pressure of his head, whereupon he turned and caught it with trembling fingers, broke it, tried to fix it, laughed nervously, and set it back in place. Then he sat down, rigidly, his elbow on the arm of the chair and his chin in his hand.

"I'm sorry about the clock," he said.

My own face had now assumed a deep tropical burn. I couldn't muster up a single commonplace out of the thousand in my head.

"It's an old clock," I told them idiotically.

I think we all believed for a moment that it had smashed in pieces on the floor.

Amid the welcome confusion of cups and cakes a certain physical decency established itself. Erik got himself into a shadow and, while Christine and I talked, looked conscientiously from one to the other of us with tense, unhappy eyes. However, as calmness wasn't an end in itself, I made an excuse at the first possible moment-when the telephone rang. I excused myself hurriedly and went to pick it up. It was a partner of Erik's in his 'sideline business', calling for me to assure that I'd come to work tomorrow. I agreed hurriedly and slammed the phone down. "I have to go to town." "To town?" Christine cried desperately. "Yes-to town-I'll be back within the hour!" "I need to talk to you," Erik said suddenly, standing up with me and nearly shoving me against the front door as I got my coat. "This was a terrible mistake!" he hissed to me. "A terrible, terrible mistake!" I rolled my eyes and sighed impatiently. "Would you calm down! All you are is embarrassed!" I exploded softly so Christine couldn't hear us. "Christine is embarrassed too! And look at you-how rude, leaving a lady alone at a tea party, one you requested!" "She's embarrassed?" he repeated like a parrot. "Embarrassed, Erik, yes." He looked away and thought for a second.

"Excuse my behavior, Miss Elizabeth..." "It's alright," I replied, motioning for him to straighten his coat and to slick his hair a bit. He complied, and less than a minute later, I was standing in the rain under the birch tree, staring out at Erik's property, then to my own lawn. My own lawn looked so strange, so rigid without the long wild grass. I decided that I liked it better untamed then it was now. After rounding my garden a few times, I looked up and saw the sun appear from behind the clouds. I rounded the garden once more before entering the house. I peered cautiously around the open doorframe leading from the kitchen to the living room. Erik and Christine sat very close together on the sofa, speaking in low, excited voices. Erik's back was to me, but Christine's face was a slight pink, with sparkling brown eyes and a nervous, giddy, curious grin. I confess that I would have watched them for an eternity and be satisfied, but...not in my house. So I proceeded to make every loud noise I possibly could in the kitchen, short of flipping over the stove. Short to say, it didn't work. They were still whispering together on the sofa, looking happy...so happy...

I shook my head, told myself to stop watching, and began coughing loudly. Finally, they noticed me and Erik leapt up from his seat. He looked as if he was about to run to me, pick me up, and swing me around. The change in him was confounding-the man was glowing with an indescribable ecstasy, and without a word or a gesture of exultation a new well-being radiated from him and filled the little room.

"Oh, hello, Miss Elizabeth," he said, as if he hadn't seen me for years. I thought for a moment he was going to hug me.

"It's stopped raining."

"Has it?" When he realized what I was talking about, that there were twinkle-bells of sunshine in the room, he smiled like a weather man, like an ecstatic patron of recurrent light, and repeated the news to Christine. "What do you think of that? It's stopped raining." "I'm glad, Erik." Her throat, full of aching, grieving beauty, told only of her unexpected joy. And in those words, I knew my work was done. "I want you and Christine to come over to my house," Erik began, taking Christine's hand and helping her off the sofa. "I wish to show her around." "Where is your house, anyway?" Christine questioned dreamily, leaning on my window. I was suddenly thinking about bolting out the door and actually going to town. "Why, you're looking at it!" I said. "That huge place _there?" _Christine cried, pointing. "Do you like it?" Erik questioned, going over to her and gingerly putting a hand on her shoulder. "I love it, but I don't see how you can live there all alone." "I keep it always full of interesting people, night and day. People who do interesting things. Celebrated people."

Instead of taking the short cut along the Sound we went down the road and entered by the big postern. With enchanting murmurs Christine admired this aspect or that of the feudal silhouette against the sky, admired the gardens, the sparkling odor of jonquils and the frothy odor of hawthorn and plum blossoms and the pale gold odor of kiss-me-at-the-gate. It was strange to reach the marble steps and find no stir of bright dresses in and out the door, and hear no sound but bird voices in the trees. I found that I liked the peace of the day better than the rowdiness of the night. And inside, as we wandered through Marie Antoinette music-rooms and Restoration salons, I felt that there were guests concealed behind every couch and table, under orders to be breathlessly silent until we had passed through. As Erik closed the door of the library I could have sworn I heard the Doctor break into ghostly laughter. Finally we came to Erik's own apartment, a bedroom and a bath, and a music room with a medium-sized organ, where we sat down and drank a glass of some Chartreuse he took from a cupboard in the wall. He hadn't once ceased looking at Christine, and I think he revalued everything in his house according to the measure of response it drew from her well-loved eyes. Sometimes, too, he stared around at his possessions in a dazed way, as though in her actual and astounding presence none of it was any longer real. Once he nearly toppled down a flight of stairs. His bedroom was the simplest room of all — except where the dresser was garnished with a toilet set of pure dull gold. Christine took the brush with delight, and smoothed her hair, whereupon Erik sat down and shaded his eyes and began to laugh.

"It's the funniest thing, old Miss Elizabeth," he said hilariously. "I can't-When I try to-" He had passed visibly through two states and was entering upon a third. After his embarrassment and his unreasoning joy he was consumed with wonder at her presence. He had been full of the idea so long, dreamed it right through to the end, waited with his teeth set, so to speak, at an inconceivable pitch of intensity. Now, in the reaction, he was running down like an overwound himself in a minute he opened for us two hulking patent cabinets which held his massed suits and dressing-gowns and ties, and his shirts, piled like bricks in stacks a dozen high. "I've got a man in England who buys me clothes. He sends over a selection of things at the beginning of each season, spring and fall."

He took out a pile of shirts and began throwing them, one by one, before us, shirts of sheer linen and thick silk and fine flannel, which lost their folds as they fell and covered the table in many-colored disarray. While we admired he brought more and the soft rich heap mounted higher — shirts with stripes and scrolls and plaids in coral and apple-green and lavender and faint orange, and monograms of Indian blue. Suddenly, with a strained sound, Christine bent her head into the shirts and began to cry stormily. "They're such beautiful shirts," she sobbed, her voice muffled in the thick folds. "It makes me sad because I've never seen such — such beautiful shirts before." After the house, we were to see the grounds and the swimming-pool, and the hydroplane and the mid-summer flowers — but outside Erik's window it began to rain again, so we stood in a row looking at the corrugated surface of the Sound. "If it wasn't for the mist we could see your home across the bay," said Erik. "You always have a green light that burns all night at the end of your dock."

Christine put her arm through his abruptly, but he seemed absorbed in what he had just said. Possibly it had occurred to him that the colossal significance of that light had now vanished forever. Compared to the great distance that had separated him from Christine it had seemed very near to her, almost touching her. It had seemed as close as a star to the moon. Now it was again a green light on a dock. His count of enchanted objects had diminished by one."Look at this," said Erik quickly, taking out a book from one of the many shelves. "Here's a lot of clippings — about you." They stood side by side examining it. I was going to ask to see the rubies when the phone rang, and Erik took up the receiver.

"Yes...well, I can't talk now...I can't talk now, sir...I said a _small_ town...he must know what a small town is...well, he's no use to us if Detroit is his idea of a small town!" He rang off. "Come here _quick_!" cried Christine at the window. The rain was still falling, but the darkness had parted in the west, and there was a pink and golden billow of foamy clouds above the sea. "Look at that," she whispered, and then after a moment: "I'd like to just get one of those pink clouds and put you in it and push you around." I tried to go then, but they wouldn't hear of it; perhaps my presence made them feel more satisfactorily alone. "I know what we'll do," said Erik, "we can have Daniel play the piano. Oh wait-he's probably having his nap-" "Oh, then, well, 'Liza, can you sing for us?" Christine requested, turning to me quickly and holding my hands. "Wha-what?" "Oh come on, 'Liza! Please?" "I-I-I haven't sang in a while-" Erik watched the conversation with some degree of amusement. "Erik, what do you think?" she inquired, taking one of his hands. "Why not, Miss Elizabeth?" They looked at me with so much light in their eyes-they looked so happy. I decided then and there I shouldn't damper their day, and somehow I ended up sitting at the piano. I hung my head and sighed before putting my fingers to the keys and playing the only song I knew.

_I've seen the world_  
_Done it all_  
_Had my cake now_  
_Diamonds, brilliant_  
_In Bel Air now_  
_Hot summer nights, mid July_  
_When you and I were forever wild_  
_The crazy days, city lights_  
_The way you'd play with me like a child_

_Will you still love me_  
_When I'm no longer young and beautiful?_  
_Will you still love me_  
_When I got nothing but my aching soul?_  
_I know you will, I know you will_  
_I know that you will_  
_Will you still love me when I'm no longer beautiful?_

_I've seen the world, lit it up_  
_As my stage now_  
_Channeling angels in a new age now_  
_Hot summer days, rock n roll_  
_The way you play for me at your show_  
_And all the ways I got to know_  
_Your pretty face and electric soul_

_Will you still love me_  
_When I'm no longer young and beautiful?_  
_Will you still love me_  
_When I got nothing but my aching soul?_  
_I know you will, I know you will_  
_I know that you will_  
_Will you still love me when I'm no longer beautiful? _

I turned my head from the keys and looked into the mirror in front of me to see how Erik and Christine were doing. Much to my shock, Christine had somehow roped Erik into a slow, simple dance-just floating around the room holding each other loosely. It then hit me that Erik wasn't wearing his mask-it was discarded on the bed. Apparently he was keeping his back to me, as I saw he was trying very hard to not make his face visible to me. _I wish I'd done everything on Earth with you, _I thought I heard Christine mutter. I shook my head and went back to the song.

_Dear lord, when I get to heaven_  
_Please let me bring my man_  
_When he comes tell me that you'll let him in_  
_Father tell me if you can_  
_All that grace, all that body_  
_All that face makes me wanna party_  
_He's my sun, he makes me shine like diamonds_

_And will you still love me_  
_When I'm no longer young and beautiful?_  
_Will you still love me_  
_When I got nothing but my aching soul?_  
_I know you will, I know you will_  
_I know that you will_  
_Will you still love me when I'm no longer beautiful?_  
_Will you still love me when I'm no longer beautiful?_  
_Will you still love me when I'm not young and beautiful?_


	6. All I Do Is Dream Of You

**A/N: It has occurred to me that I messed up everyone's ages. For clarification:  
Elizabeth: 29  
Erik: 34  
Raoul: 33  
Christine: 31  
Vronsky: 30  
Meg: 28  
Sorry if there was any confusion, and thanks for your reviews!**

For two weeks I saw nothing of Erik or hear his voice on the phone-mostly I was in New York, trotting around with Vronsky in the mornings and then working from 2 in the afternoon until 8 at night-but finally, one Sunday afternoon (my day off), I went to Erik's. I had been barely served a mint julep when someone brought Raoul de Chagny in for a drink. I nearly spat my own drink out at the sight of him. Not much at the fact that it was _Raoul de Changy _in Erik's house, but the fact that he'd never been there before. He had been riding around the area with 2 other people-a man named Andrew Ryan and a pretty, blonde Broadway chorus girl named Jasmine Jolene who looked like Meg...except less innocent, with much more glamour. "I'm delighted to see you," said Erik, standing on his porch. "I'm delighted that you dropped in."

As though they cared!

"Sit right down. Have a cigarette or a cigar." He walked around the room quickly, ringing bells. "I'll have something to drink for you in just a minute." He was profoundly affected by the fact that Raoul was there. But he would be uneasy anyhow until he had given them something, realizing in a vague way that that was all they came for. Mr. Ryan wanted nothing. A lemonade? No, thanks. A little champagne? Nothing at all, thanks...I'm sorry- "Did you have a nice ride?""Very good roads around here." "I suppose the automobiles-"

"Yeah."

Moved by an irresistible impulse, Erik turned to Raoul, who had accepted the introduction as a stranger. "I believe we've met somewhere before, Mr. de Chagny." "Oh, yes," said Raoul, gruffly polite, but obviously not remembering. "So we did. I remember very well." "About two weeks ago." "That's right. You were with Elizabeth here." "I know your wife," continued Erik, almost aggressively. I tensed and my eyes widened. "That so?" Raoul turned to me. "You live near here, Elizabeth?" "Next door." "That so?" Mr. Ryan didn't enter into the conversation, but lounged back haughtily in his chair; Miss Jolene said nothing either — until unexpectedly, after two highballs, she became cordial.

"We'll all come over to your next party, Mr. E," she suggested. "What do you say?"

"Certainly; I'd be delighted to have you."

"Be very nice," said Mr. Ryan politely. "Well, I think ought to be starting home."

"Please don't hurry," Erik urged them. He had control of himself now, and he wanted to see more of Raoul. "Why don't you — why don't you stay for supper? I wouldn't be surprised if some other people dropped in from New York." "You come to supper with _me_," said the Miss Jolene enthusiastically. "Both of you." This included me. Mr. Ryan got to his feet. "Come along," he said — but to her only. "I mean it," she insisted. "I'd love to have you. Lots of room." Erik looked at me questioningly. He didn't seem to mind going, and he didn't see that Mr. Ryan had determined he shouldn't. "I'm afraid I won't be able to," I said. "Well, you come," she urged, concentrating on Erik. Mr. Ryan murmured something close to her ear. "We won't be late if we start now," she insisted aloud.

"I haven't got a horse," said Erik. "I used to ride in the army, but I've never bought a horse. I'll have to follow you in my car. Excuse me for just a minute."

The rest of us walked out on the porch, where Mr. Ryan and Miss Jolene began an impassioned conversation aside.

"My God, I believe the man's coming," said Raoul. "Doesn't he know she doesn't want him?"

"She says she does want him."

"She has a big dinner party and he won't know a soul there." He frowned. "I wonder where in the devil he met Christine. By God, I may be old-fashioned in my ideas, but women run around too much these days to suit me. They meet all kinds of crazy fish." Immediately I was seized with a desire to hide what was going on between Erik and Christine. I know I was just as guilty as they were, meeting behind Raoul's back (even if Raoul was an adulterer himself) all due to something I agreed to, but somehow I blurted-"They met in Paris during the war, that's what he told me. When he and his troops were stationed there." "Really?" Raoul's gaze was penetrating, but I've seen it before. I wasn't about to crack. "Yes."

Suddenly Mr. Ryan and Miss Jolene walked down the steps and mounted their horses.

"Come on," said Mr. Ryan to Raoul, "we're late. We've got to go." And then to me: "Tell him we couldn't wait, will you?"

Raoul and I shook hands, the rest of us exchanged a cool nod, and they trotted quickly down the drive, disappearing under the August foliage just as Erik, with hat and light overcoat in hand, came out the front door. I ran up to him. "They couldn't wait. Erik, listen. Raoul wanted to know how you and Christine knew each other, and I told him some of the truth." Erik's face went ashen. "No, no, not that. All I said was you two met during the war. Can you keep up that alibi?" He nodded with relief.

Monday, the day afterwards, Erik came to me with another request. This one I fufilled without issue, as he had also told those in his inner circle to spread this around too. His party the next Saturday was to be a masquerade. Soon, through my telling people at my job and them telling others, it had circulated around the city that- "Mr. E's hosting a masquerade!" I myself was quite excited, as I have never been to one. Unfortunately, however, Raoul was evidently perturbed at Christine's running around alone, for on the following Saturday night he came with her to Erik's masquerade. Perhaps his presence gave the evening its peculiar quality of oppressiveness — it stands out in my memory from Erik's other parties that summer. There were the same people, or at least the same sort of people, the same profusion of champagne, the same many-colored, many-keyed commotion, but I felt an unpleasantness in the air, a pervading harshness that hadn't been there before. Now that I think about it, it was probably because everyone was wearing masks. Or perhaps I had merely grown used to it, grown to accept West Egg as a world complete in itself, with its own standards and its own great figures, second to nothing because it had no consciousness of being so, and now I was looking at it again, through Christine's eyes. It is invariably saddening to look through new eyes at things upon which you have expended your own powers of adjustment.

Christine wore a flowing dress of all different shades of pink, with a belt of roses and a white mask with silver studs. Raoul had a simple black suit, with gold stitching and a black and gold mask. I wore a dress of navy and sky blue and a plain black mask that covered all of my face except my eyes, mouth, and nostrils. They arrived at twilight, and, as we strolled out among the sparkling hundreds, Christine's voice was playing murmurous tricks in her throat. "These things excite me so," she whispered. "Look around," suggested Erik. "I'm looking around. I'm having a marvelous-" "You must see the faces of many people you've heard about." Raoul's arrogant eyes roamed the crowd. "We don't go around very much," he said. "In fact, I was just thinking I don't know a soul here." "Perhaps you know that gentleman." Erik indicated a gorgeous, scarcely human orchid of a man who sat in state under a white plum tree. Raoul and Christine stared, with that peculiarly unreal feeling that accompanies the recognition of a hitherto ghostly celebrity of the movies.

"He's handsome," I said.

"The man bending over him is his director."

He took them ceremoniously from group to group:

"Mrs. de Chagny . . . and Mr. de Chagny-" After an instant's hesitation he added: "the polo player."

"Oh no," objected Raoul quickly, "not me."

But evidently the sound of it pleased Erik, for Raoul remained "the polo player" for the rest of the evening. "I've never met so many celebrities!" Christine exclaimed. "I liked that man — what was his name? — with the sort of blue nose." Erik identified him, adding that he was a small producer. "Well, I liked him anyhow." "I'd a little rather not be the polo player," said Raoul pleasantly, "I'd rather look at all these famous people in — in oblivion."

Erik and Christine danced. I remember being surprised by his graceful, conservative foxtrot-while his dance when I sang was a bit rusty and surprised. Now, he was in his element-with a smile on his face and dancing as if he was born to do so. Then, somehow, apparently during their dance, Christine had decided to go onstage and sing a song for the multitudes. Raoul protested, but Erik, his surrounding guests, and I all condoned it, so he really had no say. So Christine got up on stage after the butler announced her, and Raoul, Erik and I sat at the ultimate viewing table, the one near the railing. I leaned my head on it while the two men leaned back. The pianist began to play a simple, slow romantic tune, couples began to dance, and Christine opened her mouth and sang-

_All I do is dream of you the whole night through_  
_With the dawn I still go on dreaming of you_  
_You're every thought, you're everything _  
_Every song I ever sing_  
_Summer, winter, autumn and spring_

_And were there more than twenty four hours a day_  
_They'd be spent in sweet content, just dreaming away_  
_When skies are gray, when skies are blue_  
_Morning, noon and nighttime too_  
_All I do the whole day through is dream of you_  
_I dream of you_

_When skies are gray, when there blue_  
_Morning, noon and nighttime too_  
_All I do the whole day through is dream of you..._

The applause was thunderous. People stood up from their seats, and the soul of the party was rejuvenated. However, the love was not reciprocated. They offended her-and inarguably, because it wasn't a gesture but an emotion. She was appalled by West Egg, this unprecedented "place" that Broadway had begotten upon a Long Island fishing village-appalled by its raw vigor that chafed under the old euphemisms and by the too obtrusive fate that herded its inhabitants along a short-cut from nothing to nothing. She saw something awful in the very simplicity she failed to understand. It was all beautifully ugly, these faceless people who danced and drank, these living mysteries who vanished in and out of the night. I stood up to go and try to find Vronsky (as he said he might come), but 30 minutes afterwards I realized he hadn't come, and also realized I hadn't seen Erik or Christine since she got offstage. I was standing on a balcony looking out near my house trying to see how many sparkling masks I could find when I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Have you seen my wife?" Raoul demanded, looking a bit out of it. _No, but I have a pretty good idea where she is. _"No, wasn't she with you?" "No. Thank you anyway, Elizabeth, I'll look through the grounds next."

We stood there for a moment on the balcony before Raoul broke the silence with "Who is this Erik, anyhow? Some big bootlegger?" "Not Erik," I said, unintentionally matching his aggressive tone. "Where did you hear that?" "I didn't hear it. I imagined it. A lot of these nouveau riche are just big bootleggers, you know." "Of course," I replied evasively. "I'd like to know who he is and what he does," insisted Raoul. "And I think I'll make a point of finding out." "I can tell you right now," I answered. "He owned some drug-stores, a lot of drug-stores. He built them up himself." And with that, he left. I knew I couldn't let him find Erik and Christine, so once he was lost in the crowd I broke free of my stillness and ran as fast as I could to the gardens. I almost trampled an entire red rosebush in my haste, crushing quite a few under my feet. When I finally found them, Christine noticed me first. "'Liza," she breathed. I then noticed something off about Erik (even though his back was to me). It then struck me, a reciprocation of what I saw when I sang for them. His mask was missing! Of course, he pulled it out and put it back on before turning to me, further pushing my curiosity. "Uh...Raoul's looking for you," I said, attempting to break the awkward moment.

Christine smoothed out her skirt and Erik straightened up his appearance, of which I did the same. Right on cue, Raoul tripped and fell upon us from the bushes. "Where have you been?" He demanded, brushing himself off. "With 'Liza just now. Mr. E's been showing us the grounds." Raoul seemed to think that a sufficient alibi, as he didn't question it as his and Christine's limousine pulled up. "Goodnight, 'Liza," she called softly as they got in. "Yes, yes, goodnight to you both," Raoul said, slamming the car door after them. Christine's glance left Erik's eyes and sought the lighted top of the steps, where _Three O'clock in the Morning_, a neat, sad little waltz of that year, was drifting out the open door. After all, in the very casualness of Erik's party there were romantic possibilities totally absent from her world. What was it up there in the song that seemed to be calling her back inside? What would happen now in the dim, incalculable hours? Perhaps some unbelievable guest would arrive, a person infinitely rare and to be marvelled at, some authentically radiant young girl who with one fresh glance at Erik, one moment of magical encounter, would blot out those five years of unwavering devotion. I stayed late that night, Erik asked me to wait until he was free, and I lingered in the garden until the inevitable swimming party had run up, chilled and exalted, from the black beach, until the lights were extinguished in the guest-rooms overhead. When he came down the steps at last the tanned skin was drawn unusually tight on his face, and his eyes were bright and tired.

"She didn't like it," he said immediately.

"Of course she did."

"She didn't like it," he insisted. "She didn't have a good time."

He was silent, and I guessed at his unutterable depression.

"I feel far away from her," he said. "It's hard to make her understand."

"You mean about the dance?"

"The dance?" He dismissed all the dances he had given with a snap of his fingers. "Miss Elizabeth, the dance is unimportant."

He wanted nothing less of Christine than that she should go to Erik and say: "I never loved you." After she had obliterated four years with that sentence they could decide upon the more practical measures to be taken. One of them was that, after she was free, they were to go back to Paris and be married from her house-just as if it were five years ago. "And she doesn't understand," he said. "She used to be able to understand. We'd sit for hours-" He broke off and began to walk up and down a desolate path of fruit rinds and discarded favors and crushed roses. "I wouldn't ask too much of her," I ventured gently. "You can't repeat the past." "Can't repeat the past?" he cried incredulously, swiveling his head to me. "Why, of course you can!" He looked around him wildly, as if the past were lurking here in the shadow of his house, just out of reach of his hand. "I'm going to fix everything just the way it was before, Miss Elizabeth," he said, nodding determinedly. "She'll see." _And you will too, _I sensed him thinking.

He talked a lot about the past, and I gathered that he wanted to recover something, some idea of himself perhaps, that had gone into loving Christine. His life had been confused and disordered since then, but if he could once return to a certain starting place and go over it all slowly, he could find out what that thing was... **(A/N: I will leave most of Erik's past with Christine up to the reader's interpretation, as I find it to be more interactive.)**

Through all he said, even through his appalling sentimentality, I was reminded of something-an elusive rhythm, a fragment of lost words, that I had heard somewhere a long time ago. For a moment a phrase tried to take shape in my mouth and my lips parted like a marionette, as though there was more struggling upon them than a wisp of startled air. But they made no sound, and what I had almost remembered was uncommunicable forever. "You're wrong about the past Miss Elizabeth," he called as his goodnight as I left. When I arrived home, I sighed and put my head against the doorframe. Why could he not see? The past is not always clearcut, I have no right to say the opposite more than anybody. All I knew at that point was, the day Erik managed to repeat the past would be the day that the Vox Populi and the Founders would be the best of friends. But perhaps I could know a bit more...

I ran out of the house and checked all around the area to make sure that it was empty. Afterwards, I ran inside, shut all the curtains, locked all the doors and windows, made sure that I could not see outside or anyone could see in, and finding myself satisfied, went to the topmost floor of my small house and faced the blank wall, the one that faced Erik's beach. _I'm sorry, Booker. _I stood tall, curled in my arms toward my chest, and concentrated hard. My fists and teeth clenched, I felt the fabric surrounding me once more, and put all my strength into the task at hand. It felt foreign at first, but soon I succeeded. And what I saw in the tear made my blood run cold.

The night was gray, and I appeared to be standing on the beach. The house was gray too, and the lawn was overgrown. That was my first clue that things weren't right. I took a deep breath and plunged into the tear. Running up the beach, I froze. There were no bright lights in the entire neighborhood. I tried to convince myself that I'd overshot, but I knew I didn't. Walking slowly up to the massive back doors, I then came across another problem. The house was dirty and empty. Broken glass all over the floor, crude words etched in the walls-the palace was desecrated and deserted. Entering the house, I proceeded to run around. All the splendor had been stripped away by an unknown hand, and the magnificent chandelier lay in pieces in the main hall. I then sensed that the tear would close soon, so I quickly ran back to the beach and stepped back into my own world, closing the tear as fast as I could.

Trying to catch my breath, I thought over what I'd just seen. It spoke the impossible, but I knew I couldn't think that way. Perhaps that was just another doorway, or maybe Erik and Christine had truly found their Paris.


	7. Dream Of The Sky

**A/N: Wow, almost done with this fic! This is by far the longest chapter yet, just warning you. Dream of the Sky belongs to Miracle of Sound. Thanks for your reviews, faves, and follows, and please enjoy!**

It was when curiosity about Erik was at its highest that the lights in his house failed to go on one Saturday night-and, as obscurely as it had begun, his career as Trimalchio was over. Only gradually did I become aware that the automobiles which turned expectantly into his drive stayed for just a minute and then drove sulkily away. Wondering if he were sick I went over to find out- and an unfamiliar butler with a villainous face squinted at me suspiciously from the door.

"Is Mr. E sick?"

"Nope." After a pause he added "Miss" in a dilatory, grudging way.

"I hadn't seen him around, and I was rather worried. Tell him Elizabeth DeWitt came over."

"Who?" he demanded rudely.

"Elizabeth."

"Elizabeth. All right, I'll tell him." Abruptly he slammed the door.

Vronsky informed me that Erik had dismissed every servant in his house a week ago and replaced them with half a dozen others, who never went into West Egg Village to be bribed by the tradesmen, but ordered moderate supplies over the telephone. The grocery boy reported that the kitchen looked like a pigsty, and the general opinion in the village was that the new people weren't servants at all.

Next day Erik called me on the phone. "Going away?" I inquired. "No, Miss Elizabeth." "I hear you fired all your servants." "I wanted somebody who wouldn't gossip. Daisy comes over quite often-in the afternoons."

So the whole caravansary had fallen in like a card house at the disapproval in her eyes.

"They're some people Nadir wanted to do something for. They're all brothers and sisters. They used to run a small hotel." "I see." He was calling up at Christine's request-would I come to lunch at her house tomorrow? Vronsky would be there. Half an hour later Christine herself telephoned and seemed relieved to find that I was coming. Something was up. And yet I couldn't believe that they would choose this occasion for a scene-especially for the rather harrowing scene that Erik had outlined in the garden. The next day was broiling, almost the last, certainly the warmest, of the summer. As my train emerged from the tunnel into sunlight, only the hot whistles of the National Biscuit Company broke the simmering hush at noon. "Hot!" said the conductor to familiar faces. "Some weather! hot! hot! hot! Is it hot enough for you? Is it hot? Is it.. .?" My commutation ticket came back to me with a dark stain from his hand. That any one should care in this heat whose flushed lips he kissed, whose head made damp the pajama pocket over his heart!

...Through the hall of the de Chagny' house blew a faint wind, carrying the sound of the telephone bell out to Erik and me as we waited at the door. "The master's body!" roared the butler into the mouthpiece. "I'm sorry, madame, but we can't furnish it-it's far too hot to touch this noon!" What he really said was: "Yes...yes...I'll see." He set down the receiver and came toward us, glistening slightly, to take our hats. "Madame expects you in the salon!" he cried, needlessly indicating the direction. In this heat every extra gesture was an affront to the common store of life.

The room, shadowed well with awnings, was dark and cool. Christine and Vronsky lay upon an enormous couch, like silver idols weighing down Vronsky's cream suit and Christine's light pink dress. "We can't move," they said together. Vronsky's fingers rested for a moment in mine. "And Mr. Raoul de Chagny, the athlete?" I inquired. Simultaneously I heard his voice, gruff, muffled, husky, at the hall telephone. Erik stood in the centre of the crimson carpet and gazed around with fascinated eyes. Christine watched him and laughed, her sweet, exciting laugh; a tiny gust of powder rose from her bosom into the air. "The rumor is," whispered Vronsky, "that that's Raoul's girl on the telephone." We were silent. The voice in the hall rose high with annoyance: "Very well, then, I won't sell you anything at all. . . . I'm under no obligations to you at all . . . and as for your bothering me about it at lunch time, I won't stand that at all!"

"Holding down the receiver," said Christine cynically. "No, he's not," I assured her. "It's a bona-fide deal. I happen to know about it." Raoul flung open the door, blocked out its space for a moment with his thick body, and hurried into the room. "Mr. E!" He put out his broad, flat hand with well-concealed dislike. "I'm glad to see you, sir. . . . Elizabeth . . . ." "Make us a cold drink," cried Christine. As he left the room again she got up and went over to Erik and pulled his face down, kissing him on the mouth. "You know I love you," she murmured.

"You forget there's a lady present," snorted Vronsky, gesturing in my direction. Christine looked around doubtfully.

"You've kissed girls too, and I'm sure Elizabeth at least once."

"What a low, vulgar girl!"

"I don't care!" cried Christine, and began to clog on the brick fireplace. Then she remembered the heat and sat down guiltily on the couch just as a freshly laundered nurse leading a little girl came into the room. This was the only time I've met little Lotte. "Bles-sed pre-cious," Christine crooned, holding out her arms. "Come to your own mother that loves you." The child, relinquished by the nurse, rushed across the room and rooted shyly into her mother's dress. Vronsky was suddenly alight with laughter, and the little girl's head shot up. And with a shout of "Uncle Vronsky!" she leapt into his arms.

"The bles-sed pre-cious! Did mother get powder on your old chocolate hair? Stand up now, and say — How-de-do," Christine said airily. The child turned to where Erik and I were. I immediately smiled-I love small children. Lotte was the spitting image of Christine-the only difference being her hair was not curly. She seemed special, in that I saw myself in those eyes, myself before Booker fell through my ceiling. "How do you like mother's friends?" Christine asked. "Do you think they're pretty?" Lotte slid out of Vronsky's grasp and toddled her way to where Erik and I were. I dropped to one knee and took little Lotte's hands in mine. "Hi, Lotte," I said. "My name is Elizabeth." This was followed by several attempts to pronounce my name, in which Lotte gave up and instead shouted, "Lizzie!" She then toddled over to Erik, who uncertainly took the child's hand in greeting. "Why do you have a mask, mister?" Erik blinked. "To hide my face." "But _why?" _Erik had no idea what to say in reply, so the little girl frowned. "Don't wear a mask, mister. It makes you look sad." "I wish I didn't have to, child." Lotte turned from him, almost as if he didn't exist. "Where's Daddy?" Erik kept staring at Lotte with this disbelieving look of wonder on his face. It was as if he didn't know she existed, and if he did, refused to believe it.

"He's making Uncle Vronsky, Lizzie, and Mr. E all drinks." Christine sat back on the sofa and the nurse stepped forward, holding out her hand. "Come, Lotte." "Goodbye sweetheart!" Christine called, as if her child was going abroad and she didn't care. With a reluctant backward glance the well-disciplined child held to her nurse's hand and was pulled out the door, just as Raoul came back, preceding four gin rickeys that clicked full of ice. Erik took up his drink. "They certainly look cool," he said, with visible tension. We drank in long, greedy swallows. "I read somewhere that the sun's getting hotter every year," said Raoul genially. "It seems that pretty soon the earth's going to fall into the sun — or wait a minute — it's just the opposite — the sun's getting colder every year. Come outside," he suggested to Erik, "I'd like you to have a look at the place." I went with them out to the veranda. On the green Sound, stagnant in the heat, one small sail crawled slowly toward the fresher sea. Erik's eyes followed it momentarily; he raised his hand and pointed across the bay.

"I'm right across from you."

"So you are."

Our eyes lifted over the rose-beds and the hot lawn and the weedy refuse of the dog-days along-shore. Slowly the white wings of the boat moved against the blue cool limit of the sky. Ahead lay the scalloped ocean and the abounding blessed isles. "There's sport for you," said Raoul, nodding. "I'd like to be out there with him for about an hour." We had luncheon in the dining-room, darkened too against the heat, and drank down nervous gayety with the cold ale. "What'll we do with ourselves this afternoon?" cried Christine, "and the day after that, and the next thirty years?""Don't be morbid," Vronsky said. "Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall." "But it's so hot," insisted Christine, on the verge of tears, "and everything's so confused. Let's all go to town!" Her voice struggled on through the heat, beating against it, molding its senselessness into forms. "I've heard of making a garage out of a stable," Raoul was saying to Erik, "but I'm the first man who ever made a stable out of a garage."

"Who wants to go to town?" demanded Christine insistently. Erik's eyes floated toward her. "Ah," she cried, "you look so cool." Their eyes met, and they stared together at each other, alone in space. With an effort she glanced down at the table. "You always look so cool," she repeated.

She had told him that she loved him, and Raoul de Chagny saw. He was astounded, and so was I, but for a different reason. His mouth opened a little, and he looked at Erik, and then back at Christine as if he had just recognized her as some one he knew a long time ago."You resemble the advertisement of the man," she went on innocently. "You know the advertisement of the man in the cool, dark beautiful shirts." "All right," broke in Raoul quickly, "I'm perfectly willing to go to town. Come on — we're all going to town." He got up, his eyes still flashing between Erik and his wife. No one moved. "Come on!" His temper cracked a little. "What's the matter, anyhow? If we're going to town, let's start." His hand, trembling with his effort at self-control, bore to his lips the last of his glass of ale. Christine's voice got us to our feet and out on to the blazing gravel drive. "Are we just going to go?" she objected. "Like this? Aren't we going to let any one smoke a cigarette first?" "Everybody smoked all through lunch, except for Elizabeth." "Oh, let's have fun," she begged him. "It's too hot to fuss." He didn't answer.

"Have it your way," she said. She went upstairs to get herself ready while Vronsky went to use the bathroom. I stood with the two other men shuffling the hot pebbles with our feet. A silver curve of the moon hovered already in the western sky. Erik started to speak, changed his mind, but not before Raoul wheeled and faced him expectantly. "Have you got your stables here?" asked Erik with an effort. "About a quarter of a mile down the road." "Oh." A pause. "I don't see the idea of going to town," broke out Raoul savagely. "Women get these notions in their heads-" I glared at him murderously, and he then remembered his manners. "Shall we take anything to drink?" called Christine from an upper window. "I'll get some whiskey," answered Raoul. He went inside.

Erik turned to me rigidly: "I can't say anything in his house, Miss Elizabeth." "She's got an indiscreet voice," I remarked. "It's full of-" I hesitated. "Her voice is full of money and music," he said suddenly. That was it. I'd never understood before. It was full of money and music-that was the inexhaustible charm that rose and fell in it, the jingle of it, the cymbals' song of it. ...Oh, high in a white palace the king's daughter, the golden girl...Raoul came out of the house wrapping a quart bottle in a towel, followed by Christine and Vronsky. "Shall we all go in my car?" suggested Erik. He felt the hot, black leather of the seat. "I ought to have left it in the shade." "Is it standard shift?" demanded Raoul. "Yes." "Well, you take my coupe and let me drive your car to town." The suggestion was distasteful to Erik. "I don't think there's much gas," he objected."Plenty of gas," said Raoul boisterously. He looked at the gauge. "And if it runs out I can stop at a drug-store. You can buy anything at a drug-store nowadays."

"You take 'Liza and Vronsky. We'll follow you in the coupe." She walked close to Erik, touching his coat with her hand. Raoul and Vronsky and I got into the front seat of Erik's car, Raoul pushed the unfamiliar gears tentatively, and we shot off into the oppressive heat, leaving them out of sight behind. He looked at me keenly, realizing that Vronsky and I must have known all along. "You think I'm pretty dumb, don't you?" he suggested. "Perhaps I am, but I have a-almost a second sight, sometimes, that tells me what to do. Maybe you don't believe that, but science-" He paused. The immediate contingency overtook him, pulled him back from the edge of the theoretical abyss. "I've made a small investigation of this fellow," he continued. "I could have gone deeper if I'd known-"

"Do you mean you've been to a medium?" inquired Vronsky humorously. "What?" Confused, he stared at us as we laughed. "A medium?" "About Mr. E." "About Mr. E! No, I haven't. I said I'd been making a small investigation of his past." "And you found he was educated here in America," said Vronsky helpfully. "Educated in America!" He was incredulous. "Like hell he is! He wears a red suit." I decided not to remark that Raoul wore a dark purple tie and vest. "Nevertheless he's an American." And we drove on with no more talk. Suddenly, as we passed the ash fields, Raoul slammed the car to a stop. "Marius!" he nearly roared. Much to my surprise, Marius flew down the fire escape to the house above the garage. "What are you doing, so far away from Coney?" "We're staying with some friends here until we can know when we're leaving." "Leaving?" Raoul asked in surprise. Vronsky poked me in the shoulder. "Is that who I think it is?" "You bet." "My wife and I want to go to Canada." "Your wife does," exclaimed Raoul, startled. "She's been talking about it for ten years." He rested for a moment against the pump, shading his eyes. "And now she's going whether she wants to or not. I'm going to get her away." The coupe flashed by us with a flurry of dust and the flash of a waving hand-probably relentless beating heat was beginning to confuse me and I had a bad moment there before I realized that so far his suspicions hadn't alighted on Raoul. He had discovered that Meg had some sort of life apart from him in another world, and the shock had made him physically sick. I stared at him and then at Raoul, who had made a parallel discovery less than an hour before-and it occurred to me that there was no difference between men, in intelligence or race, so profound as the difference between the sick and the well. Raoul jumped into the car, and we sped on to the city, and my brain racing along with the cars, trying to stop what would so obviously happen.

_Oh come on away to the city  
A kingdom to behold  
Where the bluest skies they float on by  
The streets all paved in gold  
Where under the smiles fair and pretty  
Are teeth so very white  
Into the bones of our burdened necks they bite _

And we all took the less explicable step of engaging the parlor of a suite in the Plaza Hotel. The prolonged and tumultuous argument that ended by herding us into that room eludes me, though I have a sharp physical memory that, in the course of it, my underwear kept climbing like a damp snake around my legs and intermittent beads of sweat raced cool across my back. The notion originated with Christine's suggestion that we hire five bath-rooms and take cold baths, and then assumed more tangible form as "a place to have a mint julep." Each of us said over and over that it was a "crazy idea."— we all talked at once to a baffled clerk and thought, or pretended to think, that we were being very funny...

The room was large and stifling, and, though it was already four o'clock, opening the windows admitted only a gust of hot shrubbery from the Park. Christine went to the mirror and stood with her back to us, fixing her hair. "It's a swell suite," I whispered respectfully, and everyone laughed. "Open another window," commanded Christine, without turning around. "There aren't any more." "Well, we'd better telephone for an axe-" "The thing to do is to forget about the heat," said Raoul impatiently. "You make it ten times worse by crabbing about it." He unrolled the bottle of whiskey from the towel and put it on the table. "Why not let her alone?" remarked Erik. "You're the one that wanted to come to town." I tensed along with the air in the room. This was it. The image of a desolate house with a fallen chandelier flashed in my mind once again before vanishing like vapor.

_Baptised in the water  
You're draining the well  
You built up your heaven  
On the back of hell  
Divine is the daughter  
The dream that you sell  
You built up your heaven  
On the back of hell _

"Call up and order some ice for the mint julep." As Raoul took up the receiver the compressed heat exploded into sound and we were listening to the portentous chords of Mendelssohn's Wedding March from the ballroom below. "Imagine marrying anybody in this heat!" cried Vronsky dismally. "Still — I was married in the middle of June," Christine remembered, "Somebody fainted. Who was it fainted, Raoul?" "Toulouse," he answered shortly. "They carried him into my house," appended Vronsky, "because we lived just two blocks from the church. And he stayed three weeks, until Daddy told him he had to get out. The day after he left Daddy died." After a moment she added as if she might have sounded irreverent, "There wasn't any connection. I remember, he used to talk about how he went to Julliard." "By the way, Mr. E," Raoul burst in, staring at Erik intently, "I understand you were educated here in America from Saint-Martin-de-Boscherville." "Yes and no." Raoul raised an eyebrow, and the rest of us stayed silent, eyes on Erik. I suddenly had the urge to jump out the window, open a tear home, and never speak to anyone in that room again.

"That was for five months. Then I had to work full-time for a few years, and then the war began..." I wanted to get up and throw my arms around him. I had one of those renewals of complete faith in him that I'd experienced before. Christine rose, smiling faintly, and went to the table. "Open the whiskey, Raoul," she ordered, "and I'll make you a mint julep. Then you won't seem so stupid to yourself...Look at the mint!" "Wait a minute," snapped Raoul, "I want to ask Mr. E one more question." "Go on," Erik said politely. "What kind of a row are you trying to cause in my house anyhow?" They were out in the open at last and Erik was content. I portrayed his opposite.

_Breakin' our backs  
On breakin' down stones  
Raisin' up buildings  
Breakin' down bones  
Work all the night  
And we work all the day  
Don't get a choice man  
Don't get a say _

"He isn't causing a row." Christine looked desperately from one to the other. "You're causing a row. Please have a little self-control." "Self-control!" Repeated Raoul incredulously. "I suppose the latest thing is to sit back and let Mr. Nobody from Nowhere make love to your wife. Well, if that's the idea you can count me out...Nowadays people begin by sneering at family life and family institutions, and next they'll throw everything overboard and have intermarriage between black and white." Flushed with his impassioned gibberish, he saw himself standing alone on the last barrier of civilization. "We're all white here," murmured Vronsky. "I know I'm not very popular. I don't give big parties. I suppose you've got to make your house into a pigsty in order to have any friends-in the modern world." Angry as I was, as we all were, I was tempted to laugh whenever he opened his mouth. The transition from libertine to prig was so complete. I had a urge to drag him to _the _lighthouse and strap him to the rocket that would take him to Columbia. No, not in the rocket. OUTSIDE of the rocket. "I've got something to tell you-" began Erik. But Christine guessed at his intention. "Please don't!" she interrupted helplessly. "Please let's all go home. Why don't we all go home?" _Song...bird...take...me...home..._

_Well there's a stormcloud stirrin' now  
Revolt!  
There's a stormcloud stirrin' now  
Revolt!_

The filthy streets and the calloused feet  
And bloodshot Irish eyes  
A floating haven for the craven  
Nestled in the skies  
Well up and out and away with ya  
There's a fight outside your doors  
The shining pride of America  
Is a nation up for war  
Revolt!  
_  
_

"That's a good idea." I got up. "Come on, Raoul. Nobody wants a drink." "I want to know what Mr. E has to tell me." "Your wife doesn't love you," said Erik. "She's never loved you. She loves me.""You must be crazy!" exclaimed Raoul automatically. Erik sprang to his feet, vivid with excitement, I vivid sitting on the arm of the sofa with dread. "She never loved you, do you hear?" he cried. "She only married you because I was poor and ugly and she was tired of waiting for me. It was a terrible mistake, but in her heart she never loved any one except me!" At this point Vronsky and I tried to go, but Erik and Raoul insisted with competitive firmness that we remain — as though neither of them had anything to conceal and it would be a privilege to partake vicariously of their emotions. I studied Vronsky carefully. His face was set and hard, although I saw a reflection of my own eyes in his, except he didn't look like he was about to jump out the window like I'm sure I did. "Sit down, Christine," Raoul's voice groped unsuccessfully for the paternal note. "What's been going on? I want to hear all about it."

"I told you what's been going on," said Erik defensively. "And Elizabeth didn't lie. We did meet after the war. She wasn't involved, and neither was Vronsky. Going on for five years-and you didn't know." Raoul turned to Christine sharply. "You've been seeing this fellow for five years?" "Not seeing," said Erik. "No, we couldn't meet. But both of us loved each other all that time, and you didn't know. I used to laugh sometimes-" but there was no laughter in his eyes- "to think that you didn't know." "Oh — that's all." Raoul tapped his thick fingers together like a clergyman and leaned back in his chair. Suddenly he bolted up. "You're crazy!" he exploded. "I can't speak about what happened five years ago, because I didn't know Christine then-and I'll be damned if I see how you got within a mile of her unless you brought the groceries to the back door. But all the rest of that's a Goddamned lie. Christine loved me when she married me and she loves me now." "No," said Erik, shaking his head. I bit my lip and found my boots to be the 8th wonder of the world. "She does, though. The trouble is that sometimes she gets foolish ideas in her head and doesn't know what she's doing." He nodded sagely. "And what's more, I love Christine too. Once in a while I go off on a spree and make a fool of myself, but I always come back, and in my heart I love her all the time."

"You're revolting," said Christine. She turned to me, and her voice, dropping an octave lower, filled the room with thrilling scorn: "Do you know why we left Paris?" When I shook my head violently and squeezed Vronsky's hand momentarily (so they couldn't see), she snorted. "I'm surprised that they didn't treat you to the story of that little spree." Erik walked over and stood beside her in his ridiculous red suit. "Christine, that's all over now," he said earnestly. "It doesn't matter any more. Just tell him the truth-that you never loved him-and it's all wiped out forever." She looked at him blindly. "Why-how could I love him-possibly?" "You never loved him."

_Baptised in the water  
You're draining the well  
You built up your heaven  
On the back of hell  
Divine is the daughter  
The dream that you sell  
You built up your heaven  
On the back of hell _

She hesitated. Her eyes fell on Vronsky and me with a sort of appeal, as though she realized at last what she was doing-and as though she had never, all along, intended doing anything at all. But it was done now. It was too late. Both Vronsky and I were staring out the window, hoping that if we looked out long enough, everything else would just fade away. "I never loved him," she said, with reluctance that only my fellow observer and I could seem to hear. "Not at Kapiolani?" demanded Raoul suddenly. "No." From the ballroom beneath, muffled and suffocating chords were drifting up on hot waves of air. "Not that day I carried you down from the Punch Bowl to keep your shoes dry?" There was a husky tenderness in his tone...almost as if he was pleading..."Christine?" At this, I nearly stood up to leave, but Vronsky quickly pulled me back down to my seat before anyone could notice. The room suddenly seemed to be closing in on us all. "Please don't." Her voice was cold, but the rancor was gone from it. She looked at Erik. "There," she said-but her hand as she tried to light a cigarette was trembling. Suddenly she threw the cigarette and the burning match on the carpet.

"Oh, you want too much!" she cried to Erik. "I love you now-isn't that enough? I can't help what's past." She began to sob helplessly. "I did love him once-but I loved you too." Erik's eyes opened and closed. My fists unclenched and clenched. "You loved me _too_?" he repeated. Vronsky and I exchanged a glance. We both wanted to get out of there, and quick. "Even that's a lie," said Raoul savagely. "She didn't know you were alive. Why — there're things between Christine and me that you'll never know, things that neither of us can ever forget." The words seemed to bite physically into Erik. "I want to speak to Christine alone," he insisted. "She's all excited now-" "Even alone I can't say I never loved Raoul," she admitted in a pitiful voice. "It wouldn't be true." "Of course it wouldn't," agreed Raoul. I bit my lip and looked at Vronsky again. He was now slumped in his chair, grudgingly accepting that he and I weren't going anywhere.

She turned to her husband. "As if it mattered to you," she said. My eyes narrowed with annoyance, and suddenly I felt the old familiar feeling of the fabric wrapping tightly around me, waiting to be torn by my rage. In a panic, I quickly attempted to remain calm and got the fabric to release me. "Of course it matters. I'm going to take better care of you from now on." "You don't understand," said Erik, with a touch of danger. "You're not going to take care of her any more." "I'm not?" Raoul opened his eyes wide and laughed. He could afford to control himself now. "Why's that?" "Christine's leaving you." "Nonsense." "I am, though," she said with a visible effort. "She's not leaving me!" Raoul's words suddenly leaned down over Erik. "Certainly not for a common swindler who'd have to steal the ring he put on her finger." "I won't stand this!" cried Christine. "Oh, please let's get out."

_The hybrid face of time and space  
And all that's in between  
Dimensions twist and turn amidst  
The the whims of one foreseen... _

"Who are you, anyhow?" broke out Raoul. "You're one of that bunch that hangs around with Nadir Khan-that much I happen to know. I've made a little investigation into your affairs-and I'll carry it further tomorrow." "You can suit yourself about that," said Erik steadily. "I found out what your 'drug-stores' were." He turned to us and spoke rapidly. "He and this Khan bought up a lot of side-street drug-stores here and in Chicago and sold grain alcohol over the counter. That's one of his little stunts. I picked him for a bootlegger the first time I saw him, and I wasn't far wrong." "What about it?" said Erik politely. "I guess your friend Javert wasn't too proud to come in on it." "And you left him in the lurch, didn't you? You let him go to jail for a month over in New Jersey. God! You ought to hear Javert on the subject of _you_." "He came to us dead broke. He was very glad to pick up some money." "Javert could have you up on the betting laws too, but Khan scared him into shutting his mouth." That unfamiliar yet recognizable look was back again in Erik's face.

"That drug-store business was just small change," continued Raoul slowly, "but you've got something on now that Javert's afraid to tell me about. However, I found a little something out about it. Recruiting young people to help run your little speakeasies-hell, I'm surprised he hasn't tried to drag Elizabeth into it!" I jolted back with the surprise-they had seemed to forget I existed. Raoul seemed to take my reaction as saying that Erik had attempted to do so, and he threw his arms up in the air. "Oh God, he has!" "HE HAS NOT! DON'T YOU D_ARE _BRING ME INTO YOUR PRIVATE AFFAIRS!" I screamed suddenly, jumping up from my seat, pointing at Raoul, snarling, unafraid to rip time in two. For a moment time froze. Raoul's jaw dropped a little and I saw a faint trace of a proud smirk on Erik's face. Then I calmly sat back down and took Vronsky's hand in mine innocently.

I glanced at Christine, who was staring terrified between Erik and her husband, and at me, and at Vronsky, who had begun to balance an invisible but absorbing object on the tip of his chin. Then I turned back to Erik-and was startled at his expression. He looked-and this is said in all contempt for the babbled slander of his garden-as if he had "killed a man." For a moment the set of his face could be described in just that fantastic way. It passed, and he began to talk excitedly to Christine, denying everything, defending his name against accusations that had not been made. But with every word she was drawing further and further into herself, so he gave that up, and only the dead dream fought on as the afternoon slipped away, trying to touch what was no longer tangible, struggling unhappily, undespairingly, toward that lost voice across the room.

_Songbird take me home_

I am lonely wherever I go  
I am lonely wherever I go  
Sanctuary is all that know

The voice of music and money begged again to go. "_P__lease_, Tom! I can't stand this any more." Her frightened eyes told that whatever intentions, whatever courage, she had had, were definitely gone. "You two start on home, Christine," said Raoul. "In Mr. E's car." She looked at Raoul, alarmed now, but he insisted with magnanimous scorn. "Go on. He won't annoy you. I think he realizes that his presumptuous little flirtation is over." For a moment, I will swear to God, Erik transformed, past the stage of "killed a man", to something primitive, to something that strongly resembled Booker in Columbia. This was in the stage of "killing a man." "SHUT UP!" he roared, practically tackling Raoul onto the table, his hands at his throat. Vronsky finally sprang up with me, but everything in that room was frozen for about half a minute. Then Erik let go of Raoul and glanced at Christine.

_And I dream of the sky  
Broken clouds drifting by  
And I dream of the sky  
My utopian lie  
And I dream of the sky  
Broken clouds drifting by  
And I dream of the sky  
My utopian lie  
_

They were gone, without a word, snapped out, made accidental, isolated, like ghosts, even from our pity. After a moment Raoul got up and began wrapping the unopened bottle of whiskey in the towel. "Want any of this stuff? Vronsky?...Elizabeth?" He said my name with a tinge of fear. I didn't answer. The view outside was fascinating.

"Elizabeth?" He asked again, this time apologetically.

"What?"

"Want any?"

"No...I just remembered that today's my birthday."

Vronsky sat there dumbfounded and Raoul opened his mouth for a few minutes, closed it, repeated the gesture twice more, before choking out a "Happy birthday, Elizabeth."

I was thirty. Before me stretched the portentous, menacing road of a new decade.

It was seven o'clock when we got into the coupe with him and started for Long Island. Raoul talked incessantly, exulting and laughing, but his voice was as remote from Vronsky and me as the foreign clamor on the sidewalk or the tumult of the elevated overhead. Human sympathy has its limits, and we were content to let all their tragic arguments fade with the city lights behind. But there was Vronsky beside me, who, unlike Christine, was too wise ever to carry well-forgotten dreams from age to age. As we passed over the dark bridge my face fell into his arm (in an attempt to wash away the memories of the worst birthday ever) and the formidable stroke of thirty died away with the reassuring pressure of his hand.

_And I'll take to the skies  
__With my only friend  
__Every angel  
__Begins at the end..._

_I am lonely wherever I go...  
I am lonely wherever I go...  
I am lonely wherever I go...  
I am lonely...wherever I go._


	8. The Best I Can

**A/N: Don't worry guys, I promise you this chapter is shorter! The Best I Can belongs to Miracle of Sound. Also, I noticed I accidentally typed in Tom's name instead of Raoul's in the last chapter in one line, sorry about that (I've taken to thinking of him as Tom), and I also made the same mistake with Christine/Daisy. Thanks for sticking with me all through this, and please enjoy!**

A young, curly-headed blonde man named Enjolras was the principal witness at the inquest. He worked with some friends of his who ran the ABC Cafe in the valley of ashes, and on that hot day he had slept through the heat until five, and then he wandered over to where Marius and Meg were staying. He found Marius sitting in the garage-really sick, paler than a ghost and shaking all over. Enjolras advised him to go to bed, but Marius refused, saying that he was feeling just fine. While his friend was trying to persuade him a violent racket broke out overhead.

"I've got my wife locked in up there," explained Marius calmly. "She's going to stay there till the day after tomorrow, and then we're going to move away." Enjolras was astonished; they had been friends for four years, and Marius had never seemed faintly capable of such a statement. Generally he was one of these worn-out men: when he wasn't working, he sat on a chair in the doorway and stared at the people and the cars that passed along the road. When any one spoke to him he invariably laughed in an agreeable, colorless way. He was his wife's man and not his own.

So naturally Enjolras tried to find out what had happened, but Marius wouldn't say a word-instead he began to throw curious, suspicious glances at his visitor and ask him what he'd been doing at certain times on certain days. Just as the latter was getting uneasy, some workmen came past the door bound for the restaurant, and Enjolras took the opportunity to get away, intending to come back later. But he didn't. He supposed he forgot to, that's all. When he came outside again, a little after seven, he was reminded of the conversation because he heard Meg's voice, loud and scolding, down-stairs in the garage.

"Beat me!" he heard the former ballerina cry. "Throw me down and beat me, you dirty little coward!" A moment later she rushed out into the dusk, waving her hands and shouting-before he could move from his door the business was over. The "death car," as the newspapers called it, didn't stop; it came out of the gathering darkness, wavered tragically for a moment, and then disappeared around the next bend. Enjolras wasn't even sure of its color — he told the first policeman that it was dark purple. The other car, the one going toward New York, came to rest a hundred yards beyond, and its driver hurried back to where Meg Pontmercy, her life violently extinguished, knelt in the road and mingled her thick dark blood with the dust and her light golden hair. Her mouth was wide open and ripped at the corners, as though she had choked a little in giving up the tremendous vitality she had stored so long.

We saw the three or four automobiles and the crowd when we were still some distance away. "Wreck!" said Raoul. "That's good. That garage'll have a little business at last." He slowed down, but still without any intention of stopping, until, as we came nearer, the hushed, intent faces of the people at the garage door made him automatically put on the brakes. "We'll take a look," he said doubtfully, "just a look." I became aware now of a hollow, wailing sound which issued incessantly from the garage, a sound which as we got out of the coupe and walked toward the door resolved itself into the words "Oh, my God!" uttered over and over in a gasping moan. "There's some bad trouble here," said Raoul excitedly. He reached up on tiptoes and peered over a circle of heads into the garage, which was lit only by a yellow light in a swinging wire basket overhead. Then he made a harsh sound in his throat, and with a violent thrusting movement of his powerful arms pushed his way through. The circle closed up again with a running murmur of expostulation; it was a minute before I could see anything at all. Then new arrivals deranged the line, and Vronsky and I were pushed suddenly inside.

_Sunshine _  
_Fading from your stare _  
_Sometimes _  
_It's better not to care _

_And I can see your smile is withered _  
_One more autumn leaf is drifting on the wind _

Meg Pontmercy's body, wrapped in a blanket, and then in another blanket, as though she suffered from a chill in the hot night, lay on a work-table by the wall, and Raoul, with his back to us, was bending over it, motionless. Next to him stood a motorcycle policeman taking down names with much sweat and correction in a little book. At first I couldn't find the source of the high, groaning words that echoed clamorously through the bare garage-then I saw Marius standing on the raised threshold of his office, swaying back and forth and holding to the doorposts with both hands. Some man was talking to him in a low voice and attempting, from time to time, to lay a hand on his shoulder, but Marius neither heard nor saw. His eyes would drop slowly from the swinging light to the laden table by the wall, and then jerk back to the light again, and he gave out incessantly his high, horrible call:

"Oh, my Ga-od! Oh, my Ga-od! Oh, Ga-od! Oh, my Ga-od!"

I lowered my head as I heard Raoul demand of the police officer what happened. Meg. Why would someone kill someone like Meg? Yes, she was a mistress, but it wasn't out of sheer joy. Meg simply wanted to be free of Marius. As a gesture of respect, I went back to all the doors. I looked into everything she could've been. I could see her life if she hadn't met Raoul-one of misery and depression and alcoholism, a fate worse than death. And if she never met Marius, one of possible happiness and joy. She deserved better. "Auto hit her. Instantly killed." "Instantly killed." Raoul echoed. "She ran out into the road. The driver didn't even stop his car." "Kill and run." Vronsky whispered under his breath.

_Innocence is wasted  
And I'm so sorry that you never can replace it  
The darkest road ahead you're gonna have to face it  
Cause I can't always be there  
For now I'll do the best I... _

"There were two cars," Enjolras said, "going each way. One leaving from New York and one going. She ran out there and the one coming from New York hit her, going 40 miles an hour or more." An older man, well-dressed, with thinning brown hair stepped forward. "It was a dark, black car," he said in a deep voice. "A big black car. Looked like it had just been bought." "Were you here at the accident?" "I was driving the other car, the one going to New York." "Come here, what's your name?" "Jean Valjean." Some words of this conversation must have reached Marius, swaying in the office door, for suddenly a new theme found voice among his gasping cries: "You don't have to tell me what kind of car it was! I know what kind of car it was!"

Watching Raoul, I saw the wad of muscle back of his shoulder tighten under his coat. He walked quickly over to Marius and, standing in front of him, seized him firmly by the upper arms. "You've got to pull yourself together," he said with soothing gruffness.

Marius's eyes fell upon Raoul; he started up on his tiptoes and then would have collapsed to his knees had not Raoul held him upright.

"Listen," said Raoul, shaking him a little. "I just got here a minute ago, from New York. I was bringing you that coupe we've been talking about. That obsidian car I was driving this afternoon wasn't mine-do you hear? I haven't seen it all afternoon." Only Mr. Valjean and I were near enough to hear what he said, but the policeman caught something in the tone and looked over with truculent eyes. "What's all that?" he demanded. "I'm a friend of his." Raoul turned his head but kept his hands firm on Marius' body. "He says he knows the car that did it...it was an obsidian car." Some dim impulse moved the policeman to look suspiciously at Raoul. "And what color's your car?" "It's a blue car, a coupe." "We've come straight from New York," Vronsky said. Someone who had been driving a little behind us confirmed this, and the policeman turned away. "Now, if you'll let me have that name again correct-" Picking up Marius like a doll, Raoul carried him into the office, set him down in a chair, and came back. "If somebody'll come here and sit with him," he snapped authoritatively. He watched while the two men standing closest glanced at each other and went unwillingly into the room. Then Raoul shut the door on them and came down the single step, his eyes avoiding the table. As he passed close to me he whispered: "Let's get out."

Self-consciously, with his authoritative arms breaking the way, we pushed through the still gathering crowd, passing a hurried doctor, case in hand, who had been sent for in wild hope half an hour ago. Raoul drove slowly until we were beyond the bend-then his foot came down hard, and the coupe raced along through the night. In a little while I heard a low husky sob, and saw that the tears were overflowing down his face. "The Goddamned coward!" he whimpered. "He didn't even stop his car." The de Changy's house floated suddenly toward us through the dark rustling trees. Raoul stopped beside the porch and looked up at the second floor, where two windows bloomed with light among the vines. "Christine's home," he said. As we got out of the car he glanced at me and frowned slightly. "I ought to have dropped you in West Egg, Elizabeth. There's nothing we can do tonight."

A change had come over him, and he spoke gravely, and with decision. As we walked across the moonlight gravel to the porch he disposed of the situation in a few brisk phrases. "I'll telephone for a taxi to take you home, and while you're waiting you and Vronsky better go in the kitchen and have them get you some supper-if you want any." He opened the door. "Come in." "No, thanks. I'm not hungry. But I'd be glad if you'd order me the taxi. I'll wait outside." Vronsky put her hand on my arm as Raoul went inside. "Won't you come in, Elizabeth?" "No, thanks." I was feeling a little sick and I wanted to be alone. But Vronsky lingered for a moment more.

"It's only half-past nine," he said. I'd be damned if I'd go in; I'd had enough of all of them for one day, and suddenly that included Vronsky too. He must have seen something of this in my expression, for he squeezed my hand for the last time, turned abruptly away, and ran up the porch steps into the house. I sat down for a few minutes massaging my forehead, until I heard the phone taken up inside and the butler's voice calling a taxi. Then I walked slowly down the drive away from the house, intending to wait by the gate. I hadn't even gone 20 yards when I heard-

"Psst. Miss Elizabeth."

_Can you  
Feel it on the wind?  
Changes  
Weakened from within_

And I can take your hand and guide you  
But hope is all that I can leave you on your way 

And Erik stepped out from between two bushes. I must have been pretty delirious at the time, because I couldn't think of anything when I first saw him but that loud red suit. "What are you doing here?" I questioned. "Just standing here." Somehow, that seemed a despicable occupation. For all I knew he was going to rob the house in a moment; I wouldn't have been surprised to see sinister faces, the faces of 'Khan's people,' behind him in the dark shrubbery. "Did you see any trouble on the road?" he asked after a minute. "Yes." I spat. He hesitated. "Was she killed?" "Yes."

"I thought so; I told Christine I thought so. It's better that the shock should all come at once. She stood it pretty well." I snapped as I realized Christine's reaction was all that mattered to him. "How can you say that?!" I nearly shrieked, flying at him, grabbing his shirt and shaking him. "A woman is DEAD, Erik! An innocent woman's blood is on your hands! Christine's reaction means nothing! Do you have any clue what you just did?!" He grabbed my wrists to make me stop shaking him as suddenly a bright beam of light shone down on the garden. On instinct, I threw Erik under the bushes and pressed my back up against the tree nearby. The light switched off, and Erik crawled out. "Where did you learn to do that?" "I won't tell you," I replied coldly, turning away from him. We both stood there for a moment before Erik began rambling- ""I got to West Egg by a side road, and left the car in my garage. I don't think anybody saw us, but of course I can't be sure."

I disliked him so much by this time that I didn't find it necessary to tell him he was wrong.

_Innocence is wasted  
And I'm so sorry that you never can replace it  
The darkest road ahead you're gonna have to face it  
Cause I can't always be there...  
For now I'll do the best I can _

"Who was the woman?" he inquired. "Her name was Meg Pontmercy. Her husband was staying in the garage. How the devil did it happen?" I bit back. "Well, I tried to swing the wheel-" He broke off, and suddenly I guessed at the truth. "Christine was driving."

"Yes," he said after a moment (and I turned my head to the side, still refusing to meet his eyes), "but of course I'll say I was. You see, when we left New York she was very nervous and she thought it would steady her to drive-and this woman rushed out at us just as we were passing a car coming the other way. It all happened in a minute, but it seemed to me that she wanted to speak to us, thought we were somebody she knew. Well, first Christine turned away from the woman toward the other car, and then she lost her nerve and turned back. The second my hand reached the wheel I felt the shock-it must have killed her instantly." "It ripped her open-" "Don't tell me, Miss Elizabeth." He winced. "Anyhow-Christine stepped on it. I tried to make her stop, but she couldn't, so I pulled on the emergency brake. Then she fell over into my lap and I drove on. She'll be all right tomorrow," he said presently. "I'm just going to wait here and see if he tries to bother her about that unpleasantness this afternoon. She's locked herself into her room, and if he tries any brutality she's going to turn the light out and on again."

"He won't touch her," I said. "He's not thinking about her." "I don't trust him, Miss Elizabeth."

"How long are you going to wait?"

"All night, if necessary. Anyhow, till they all go to bed."

A new point of view occurred to me. Suppose Tom found out that Daisy had been driving. He might think he saw a connection in it-he might think anything. I looked at the house; there were two or three bright windows downstairs and the pink glow from Daisy's room on the second floor. "You wait here," I said, still not looking at him. "I'll see if there's any sign of a commotion."

I walked back along the border of the lawn, traversed the gravel softly, and tiptoed up the veranda steps. The drawing-room curtains were open, and I saw that the room was empty. Crossing the porch where we had dined that June night three months before, I came to a small rectangle of light which I guessed was the pantry window. The blind was drawn, but I found a rift at the sill.

Christine and Raoul were sitting opposite each other at the kitchen table, with a plate of cold fried chicken between them, and two bottles of ale. He was talking intently across the table at her, and in his earnestness his hand had fallen upon and covered her own. Once in a while she looked up at him and nodded in agreement. They weren't happy, and neither of them had touched the chicken or the ale-and yet they weren't unhappy either. There was an unmistakable air of natural intimacy about the picture, and anybody would have said that they were conspiring together.

As I tiptoed from the porch I heard my taxi feeling its way along the dark road toward the house. Erik was waiting where I had left him in the drive. "Is it all quiet up there?" he asked anxiously. "Yes, it's all quiet." I hesitated, and then finally looked him in the eye. "You'd better come home and get some sleep." He shook his head.

"I want to wait here till Christine goes to bed. Good night, Miss Elizabeth."

He put his hands in his coat pockets and turned back eagerly to his scrutiny of the house, as though my presence marred the sacredness of the vigil. So I walked away and left him standing there in the moonlight-watching over nothing.

_Static on a broken radio  
Down into the jaws of fate we go_

Innocence is wasted  
And I'm so sorry that you never can replace it  
The darkest road ahead you're gonna have to face it  
Cause I can't always be there...  
_For now I'll do the best I can. _

**A/N: Wow, I actually managed to update this twice in a two-day span! The next chapter may take a little longer to come up, but anyway, thanks for reading and please review!**


	9. Next To The Last Song

**A/N: Well, here we are, with another chapter. There will be either one or two more after this one and I may move to another project. This chapter is also partially inspired by the last scene from _Dancer In The Dark _and a scene out of _The Godfather._ Anyway, thank you for all of your continued support, the songs aren't mine, and please enjoy!**

I slept fitfully that night, because a fog-horn was groaning incessantly on the Sound, and I tossed half-sick between grotesque reality and savage, frightening dreams. Toward dawn I heard a taxi go up Erik's drive, and immediately I jumped out of bed and began to dress-I felt that I had something to tell him, something to warn him about, something about what I saw in the tear, and morning would be too late. Crossing his lawn, I saw that his front door was still open and he was leaning against a table in the hall, heavy with dejection or sleep. "Nothing happened," he said wanly. "I waited, and about four o'clock she came to the window and stood there for a minute and then turned out the light."

His house had never seemed so enormous to me as it did that night when we hunted through the great rooms for a cigarette for him. We pushed aside curtains that were like pavilions, and felt over innumerable feet of dark wall for electric light switches-once I tumbled with a sort of splash upon the keys of a ghostly piano. There was an inexplicable amount of dust everywhere, and the rooms were musty, as though they hadn't been aired for many days. I found the humidor on an unfamiliar table, with two stale, dry cigarettes inside. Throwing open the French windows of the drawing-room, he sat smoking out into the darkness.

"You ought to go away," I said. "It's pretty certain they'll trace your car."

"Go away _now_, Miss Elizabeth?"

"Go to Atlantic City for a week, or up to Montreal."

He wouldn't consider it. He couldn't possibly leave Christine until he knew what she was going to do. He was clutching at some last hope and I couldn't bear to shake him free. It was this night that he told me the strange story of his youth-told it to me because "Mr. E" had broken up like glass against Raoul's hard malice, and the long secret extravaganza was played out. **(I'm leaving Erik's past up to all of your interpretations.) **I think that he would have acknowledged anything now, without reserve, but he wanted to talk about Christine.

She was the first "nice" girl he had ever known. In various unrevealed capacities he had come in contact with such people, but always with indiscernible barbed wire between. He found her excitingly desirable. He went to the opera house, at first with other officers from his regiment, then alone. It amazed him-he had never been in such a beautiful building before, but what gave it an air of breathless intensity, was that Christine lived there-it was as casual a thing to her as war was to him. There was a ripe mystery about it, a hint of bedrooms upstairs more beautiful and cool than other bedrooms, of radiant activities taking place through its corridors, and of romances that were not musty and laid away already in lavender but fresh and breathing and redolent of this year's shining productions and of dances whose flowers were scarcely withered. It excited him, too, that many men had already loved Christine-it increased her value in his eyes. He felt their presence all about the house, pervading the air with the shades and echoes of still vibrant emotions.

But he knew that he was in the opera house by a colossal accident. However glorious might be his future as Mr. E, he was at present a penniless young man without a past, and at any moment the invisible cloak of his uniform might slip from his shoulders. So he made the most of his time. He took what he could get, ravenously and unscrupulously-eventually he took Christine one still July night, took her because he had no real right to touch her hand.

"I can't describe to you how surprised I was to find out I loved her, Miss Elizabeth. I even hoped for a while that she'd throw me over, but she didn't, because she was in love with me too. She thought I knew a lot because I knew different things from her...well, there I was, way off my ambitions, getting deeper in love every minute, and all of a sudden I didn't care. What was the use of doing great things if I could have a better time telling her what I was going to do?" On the last afternoon before he went to Saint-Martin-de-Boscherville, he sat with Christine in his arms for a long, silent time. It was a warm summer day, with her cheeks flushed. Now and then she moved and he changed his arm a little, and once he kissed her dark shining hair. The afternoon had made them tranquil for a while, as if to give them a deep memory for the long parting the next day promised. They had never been closer in their month of love, nor communicated more profoundly one with another, than when she brushed silent lips against his coat's shoulder or when he touched the end of her fingers, gently, as though she were asleep.

For Christine was young and her artificial world was redolent of orchids and pleasant, cheerful snobbery and orchestras which set the rhythm of the year, summing up the sadness and suggestiveness of life in new tunes. All night the sopranos sang the songs of _Faust_ while a hundred pairs of golden and silver slippers shuffled the shining dust. At the gray tea hour there were always rooms that throbbed incessantly with this low, sweet fever, while fresh faces drifted here and there like rose petals blown by the sad horns around the floor. Through this twilight universe Christine began to move again with the season; suddenly she was again keeping half a dozen dates a day with half a dozen men, and drowsing asleep at dawn with the beads and chiffon of an evening dress tangled among dying orchids on the floor beside her bed. And all the time something within her was crying for a decision. She wanted her life shaped now, immediately-and the decision must be made by some force-of love, of money, of unquestionable practicality-that was close at hand. That force took shape in the middle of spring with the arrival of Raoul de Chagny. There was a wholesome bulkiness about his person and his position, and Christine was flattered. Doubtless there was a certain struggle and a certain relief.

It was dawn now on Long Island and we went about opening the rest of the windows down-stairs, filling the house with gray-turning, gold-turning light. The shadow of a tree fell abruptly across the dew and ghostly birds began to sing among the blue leaves. There was a slow, pleasant movement in the air, scarcely a wind, promising a cool, lovely day. "I don't think she ever loved him." Erik turned around from a window and looked at me challengingly. "You must remember, Miss Elizabeth, she was very excited this afternoon. He told her those things in a way that frightened her-that made it look as if I was some kind of cheap sharper. And the result was she hardly knew what she was saying."

He sat down gloomily. "Of course she might have loved him just for a minute, when they were first married-and loved me more even then, do you see?" Suddenly he came out with a curious remark. "In any case," he said, "it was just personal." What could you make of that, except to suspect some intensity in his conception of the affair that couldn't be measured?

He came back to Paris when Raoul and Christine were still on their wedding trip, and made a miserable but irresistible journey there on the last 1/4 of his army pay. He stayed there a week, walking the streets where their footsteps had clicked together through the sumer night and revisiting the out-of-the-way places to which they had driven in her white car. Just as Christine's opera house (as he considered it) had always seemed to him more mysterious and artful than other houses, so his idea of the city itself, even though she was gone from it, was pervaded with a melancholy beauty. He left feeling that if he had searched harder, he might have found her-that he was leaving her behind. He went out to the open, vestibule and sat down on a chair, and the station slid away and the backs of unfamiliar buildings moved by. Then out into the elegant streets, where a yellow trolley raced for a minute with people in it who might once have seen the pale magic of her face on the stage. The track curved and now it was going away from the sun, which as it sank lower, seemed to spread itself in benediction over the vanishing city where she had drawn her breath. He stretched out his hand desperately as if to snatch only a wisp of air, to save a fragment of the spot that she had made lovely for him. But it was all going by too fast now for his blurred eyes and he knew that he had lost that part of it, the freshest and the best, forever.

It was nine o'clock when we finished breakfast out on the porch. The night had made a sharp difference in the weather and there was an autumn flavor in the air. However, that crisp air did nothing to keep me awake, for as Erik began leading me to the gardens where the outdoor piano was I nearly fell down the stairs in exhaustion. He ended up half-carrying half-supporting me until we reached our destination, in which I ended up collapsing on the piano bench. Erik chuckled at my attempts to stay awake before the gardener came around. "I'm going to drain the pool today, Mr. E. Leaves'll start falling pretty soon, and then there's always trouble with the pipes." "Don't do it today," Erik answered. He turned to me apologetically. "You know, Miss Elizabeth, I've never used that pool all summer?" "Really..." I mumbled, looking at him with half-shut eyes. "Go home," he said, somewhat reluctantly. "You need the rest." I didn't want to go home. My house was a wreck and my bedsheets were strewn about the floor, but it was more than that-I didn't want to leave Erik. "I'll come back later," I managed. "You do that, Miss Elizabeth." "At noon." He nodded.

Suddenly seized with the memory of a fallen chandelier in a gray mansion, I was fully energized and shaking in my seat. "Erik, Erik, do you remember that time when we had tea at my place, and, and you put roses everywhere, and then you had me sing for you and Christine?" Erik nodded, albeit confused. "We-well, do you want me to sing again?" Erik opened his mouth, closed it, looked at me oddly, and then nodded slowly. I sighed nervously. _Oh God, why the hell did I offer? _That image, though, of that goddamn chandelier, was enough to fuel me, so I sang-

_You can picture happy gatherings  
'Round the fireside long ago,  
And you think of tearful partings  
When they left you here below_

_Will the circle be unbroken  
By and by, by and by?  
Is a better home awaiting  
In the sky, in the sky? _

I just had to give this one present to him. He nodded and smiled at me. "That was lovely, Elizabeth." It struck me that for the first time ever he had called me simply 'Elizabeth' with no prefix. "Thank you," I said, the nerves gone. I began to walk in the direction of my lawn, and he took out some paper from a compartment in the piano and began to write furiously with a jet pen. Just as I reached the bottom of the steps, I remembered something and screamed out, "ERIK!"

He looked down curiously. "They're a rotten crowd!" I shouted into the wind, breathless. "You're worth the whole goddamn bunch put together!"

I've always been glad I said that. It was the only compliment I ever gave him, because I didn't exactly know what to think of him from beginning to end. First he nodded politely, and then his face broke into that radiant and understanding smile, as if we'd been in ecstatic cahoots on that fact all the time. His gorgeous red rag of a suit made a bright spot of color against the white steps, and I thought of the night when I first came to his ancestral home, three months before. The lawn and drive had been crowded with the faces of those who guessed at his corruption-and he had stood on those steps, concealing his incorruptible dream, as he waved them goodbye. I thanked him for his hospitality. We were always thanking him for that-I and the others.

"Goodbye," I called. "I enjoyed breakfast...Erik." And just like that, my immense energy left me and I began stumbling home with my eyes half-shut.

At the ash kingdom, they had difficulty locating the brother, Courfeyrac. He must have broken his rule against drinking that night, for when he arrived he was stupid with liquor and unable to understand that the ambulance had already gone to Flushing. When they convinced him of this, he immediately screamed once and fainted, as if that was the intolerable part of the affair. Someone, kind or curious, took him in his car and drove her in the wake of his sister's body.

Until long after midnight a changing crowd lapped up against the front of the garage, while Marius Pontmercy rocked himself back and forth on the couch inside. For a while the door of the office was open, and every one who came into the garage glanced irresistibly through it. Finally someone said it was a shame, and closed the door. Enjolras and several other men were with him; first, four or five men, later two or three men. Still later Enjolras had to ask the last stranger to wait there fifteen minutes longer, while he went back to his own place and made a pot of coffee. After that, he stayed there alone with Marius until dawn. About three o'clock the quality of Marius's incoherent muttering changed-he grew quieter and began to talk about the black car. He announced that he had a way of finding out whom the black car belonged to, and then he blurted out that a couple of months ago his wife had come from the city with her face bruised and her nose swollen. But when he heard himself say this, he flinched and began to cry "Oh, my God!" again in his groaning voice.

By six o'clock Enjolras was worn out, and grateful for the sound of a car stopping outside. It was one of the watchers of the night before who had promised to come back, so he cooked breakfast for three, which he and the other man ate together. Marius was quieter now, and Enjolras went home to sleep; when he awoke four hours later and hurried back to the garage, Marius was gone.

His movements-he was on foot all the time-were afterward traced to Port Roosevelt and then to Gad's Hill, where he bought a sandwich that he didn't eat, and a cup of coffee. He must have been tired and walking slowly, for he didn't reach Gad's Hill until noon. Thus far there was no difficulty in accounting for his time- there were boys who had seen a man 'acting sort of crazy,' and motorists at whom he stared oddly from the side of the road. Then for three hours he disappeared from view. The police, on the strength of what he said to Enjolras, that he 'had a way of finding out,' supposed that he spent that time going from garage to garage thereabout, inquiring for a black car so dark it was almost purple. On the other hand, no garage man who had seen him ever came forward, and perhaps he had an easier, surer way of finding out what he wanted to know. By half-past two he was in West Egg, where he asked someone the way to Erik's house. So by that time he knew Erik's facade.

At two o'clock, Erik was sitting at the piano with his back to the pool madly writing something, playing a little, writing, and playing some more. He had given instructions that the open car wasn't to be taken out under any circumstances-and this was strange, because the front right fender needed repair. I, meanwhile, had actually managed to get a decent 6 hour sleep with no dreams. And when I woke up, for a minute I thought that it was June and that night I'd have to go to the party being hosted by a man named Mr. E. Then the memories flooded in, and I threw myself out of bed and ran to Erik's the way I was-in a rumpled dark blue and white dress with just white socks and no shoes.

"Erik?" I called semi-nervously as I almost flew up the stairs to see him. I let out a sigh of relief as he saw me from his piano and smiled. "How are you?" I demanded shakily, coming up to him, sliding behind him, and giving him a quick embrace around the shoulders. "Why, I'm fine, Miss Elizabeth. Why wouldn't I be?" I wasn't about to explain that I had ripped the fabric of space and time to see that he wouldn't be safe in his estate anymore. "Oh, no reason!" I replied quickly. "Are you composing?" He nodded. "Can you play me what you have so far?" I babbled. He shook his head with a mysterious smile. "It's a surprise, it's not finished yet. I can play you something else, however." "Well, then, play that-uh, please, Erik sir!" I spat out fast. He looked at me strangely, played a few notes, then paused suddenly. I, now standing about a foot away behind him to the right, looked on confused. Then he suddenly sang, in a voice which could be called heavenly without exaggeration-

_Dear Elizabeth, of course you are here  
And now it's nothing to fear  
Oooh, I should have known  
Oooh, I was never alone_

This isn't the last song  
There is no violin  
The choir is so quiet  
And no one takes a spin  
This is the next-to-last song  
And that's all, all

Remember what I have never said  
Remember, to never follow where I led  
Do this, do that, but don't collapse on the rose beds

And there I was, standing about a foot away behind him to the right, getting more lost in his voice every goddamn second. I have an idea that Erik himself didn't believe Christine come, and perhaps he no longer cared. If that was true he must have felt that he had lost the old warm world, paid a high price for living too long with a single dream. He must have looked up at an unfamiliar sky through frightening leaves and shivered as he found what a grotesque thing a rose with a black ribbon is and how raw the sunlight was upon the scarcely created grass. A new world, material without being real, where poor ghosts, breathing dreams like air, drifted fortuitously about...like that ashen, fantastic figure gliding toward us through the amorphous trees.

_This isn't the last song  
There is no violin  
The choir is quiet  
And no one takes a spin  
This is the next-to-last song... __  
_

And in that moment, I swear, he was complete. Shaken free of his facade, Mr. E was dead. Now there was only a man named Erik and a girl standing behind him as his friend named Elizabeth. _"And that's all..." _He sang, then suddenly he went rigid.

I do not remember the sound of the gunshot, or even remember registering that it had happened. I don't remember me screaming, but I do remember it echoing through all of Erik's property and I like to believe it reached Christine on the other side of the Sound and made her die inside. I do remember Erik's eyes widening as he fell back towards me and landed with his head and shoulders in the pool. I do remember his mouth moving as blood spurted from his forehead and back of the head and barely hearing him whisper a name-whether it was _Christine _in the tone of heartbreak or _Elizabeth _in the tone of pleading, I can't tell. There was a faint, barely perceptible movement of the water as the fresh flow from one end urged its way toward the drain at the other with little ripples that were hardly the shadows of waves. The touch of a cluster of leaves revolved it slowly, tracing, like the leg of compass, a thin red circle in the water.

As two butlers, the gardener, and the chauffeur began quickly carrying him into the house, I unconsciously fell into where Erik had been sitting on the piano bench. I stared to where his head had fallen and said with zero emotion- "They say it is the last song. They don't know us, you see. It is only the last song. If we let it be..." Movement caught my eyes and I shot up. And there was Marius Pontmercy, standing up shakily, staring at the pistol in his hand, opening and closing his mouth, unable to comprehend that he shot down the 9th wonder of the world. He looked up and met my fuming eyes. "I din't mean to," he muttered over and over. I began walking towards him quickly without even feeling the ground beneath my feet. All I could feel was the fabric beginning to constrain me violently. "You lousy stinking bastard," I hissed. "You goddamn lousy, stinking, good-for-nothing bastard. Wrong man." "But-but-his car ran Meg over-" "It was his car." I spat. "Ever thought that he might not have been driving it?" At this, his face went ashen and he burst into tears. Looking back now, I see what Marius Pontmercy was-a hapless pawn.

"Christine Daae." I said simply.

"Who-wha-"

"That's the driver. Or, as you may know her-_Christine de Chagny." _

Marius' face twisted into something awful-a mix of fear and regret and shock and anger, and he began to run away, dropping the gun. He'd almost reached the rose bushes when I extended my arm in his direction. _Forgive me, Booker._


	10. Anthem Of The Angels

**A/N: Here we are at the second-to-last chapter. It was a blast writing this out-I can't believe it stemmed all from one idea I had while bored out of my mind at church one Sunday-****_What if POTO was in The Great Gatsby? _And then I thought of my new favorite video game heroine, and it all began to fall together. Thank you for all of your continued support. It was a huge honor to write this. Anyway, enjoy!**

_New York, 1922. The parties were bigger. The pace was faster. The shows were broader. The buildings were higher. The morals were looser. And the liquor was cheaper. And I'd be lying if I said I wanted no part in it. _

Marius Pontmercy's body was discovered among the wilting rosebushes when the gardener ran out to tell me the news half an hour later. An autopsy revealed that he had been electrocuted numerous times and his spine and all of his ribs had been broken. Oh, and that he'd been shot in the mouth too. Nobody ever knew how on Earth he'd been electrocuted and have the most vital bones in his body all be broken, but it didn't matter. All anyone cared about was Erik's shot to the head. Well, not 'cared' as you might think.

After a year, I remember the rest of that day, and that night and the next day, only as an endless drill of police and photographers and newspaper men in and out of Erik's front door. A rope stretched across the main gate and a policeman by it kept out the curious, but little boys soon discovered that they could enter through my yard, and there were always a few of them clustered open-mouthed about the pool. Someone with a positive manner, perhaps a detective, used the expression "madman" as he bent over Marius' body that afternoon, and the adventitious authority of his voice set the key for the newspaper reports next morning.

Most of those reports were a nightmare-grotesque, circumstantial, eager, and untrue. When Enjolras's testimony at the inquest brought to light Marius' suspicions of his wife I thought the whole tale would shortly be served up in racy pasquinade-but Courfeyrac, who might have said anything, didn't say a word. He showed a surprising amount of character about it too-looked at the coroner with determined eyes under that corrected brow of his, and swore that his sister had never seen Gatsby, that his sister was completely happy with her husband, that his sister had been into no mischief whatever. He convinced himself of it, and cried into his handkerchief, as if the very suggestion was more than he could endure. And it rested there.

But all this part of it seemed remote and unessential. I found myself on Erik's side, and alone. From the moment I telephoned news of the catastrophe to West Egg village, every surmise about him, and every practical question, was referred to me. At first I was surprised and confused; then, as he lay in his house and didn't move or breathe or speak, hour upon hour, it grew upon me that I was responsible, because no one else was interested-interested, I mean, with that intense personal interest to which every one has some vague right at the end.

_White walls surround us _  
_No light will touch your face again _  
_Rain taps the window _  
_As we sleep among the dead _

_Days go on forever _  
_But I have not left your side _  
_We can chase the dark together _  
_If you go then so will I _

I called up Christine half an hour after we found him, called her instinctively and without hesitation. But she and Raoul had gone away early that afternoon, and taken baggage with them.

"Left no address?"

"No."

"Say when they'd be back?"

"No."

"Any idea where they are? How I could reach them?"

"I don't know. Can't say."

I wanted to get somebody for him. I wanted to go into the room where he lay and reassure him: "I'll get somebody for you, Erik. Don't worry. Just trust me and I'll get somebody for you-" Nadir Khan's name wasn't in the phone book. The butler gave me his office address on Broadway, and I called Information, but by the time I had the number it was long after five, and no one answered the phone.

"Will you ring again?"

"I've rung them three times."

"It's very important."

"Sorry. I'm afraid no one's there."

I went back to the drawing-room and thought for an instant that they were chance visitors, all these official people who suddenly filled it. But, as they drew back the sheet and looked at Erik with unmoved eyes, his protest continued in my brain:

"Look here, Miss Elizabeth, you've got to get somebody for me. You've got to try hard. I can't go through this alone."

_You won't be alone. I'm here. And I'll get someone else for you too. _

Someone started to ask me questions, but I broke away and going upstairs looked hastily through the unlocked parts of his desk-he'd never told me definitely that his parents were dead. But there was nothing-nothing but music compositions and black ribbons and drawings of Christine or roses or Paris. It was when I reached the bottom of the largest drawer with all the drawings when I froze. There was one sheet of fine cream sketching paper that didn't have Christine or roses or Paris. It was a full-scale drawing of me dancing with Vronsky from Erik's first party taken from a bird's eye view. I flipped past that one and found one of just me in my dress from the first party, holding the hands of the viewer (a man's hands) and it appeared that I was spinning with the viewer, as the background almost looked like it was whirring around me. I did a double take. My eyes were oversized, my smile was huge, and my hair was a mess. I looked perfect. _Did I really look like that to him that night?_

Next morning I sent the butler to New York with a letter to Mr. Khan, which asked for information and urged him to come out on the next train. That request seemed superfluous when I wrote it. I was sure he'd start when he saw the newspapers, just as I was sure there'd be a wire from Christine before noon-but neither a wire nor Mr. Khan arrived; no one arrived except more police and photographers and newspaper men. When the butler brought back Khan's answer I began to have a feeling of defiance, of scornful solidarity between Erik and me against them all.

_Dear Ms. DeWitt_. _This has been one of the most terrible shocks of my life to me I hardly can believe it that it is true at all. Such a mad act as that man did should make us all think. I cannot come down now as I am tied up in some very important business and cannot get mixed up in this thing now. If there is anything I can do a little later let me know in a letter by Edgar. I hardly know where I am when I hear about a thing like this and am completely knocked down and out._

_Yours truly, Nadir Khan  
_

and then hastily added beneath:

_Let me know about the funeral etc. Do not know his family at all. _

When the phone rang that afternoon and Long Distance said Chicago was calling I thought this would be Christine at last. But the connection came through as a man's voice, with a thick Irish accent and far away.

"This is Atlas speaking..."

"Yes?" The name was unfamiliar.

"Hell of a note, isn't it? Get my wire?"

"There haven't been any wires."

"Jack's in trouble," he said rapidly. "They picked him up when he handed the bonds over the counter. They got a circular from New York giving 'em the numbers just five minutes before. What d'you know about that, hey boyo? You never can tell in these hick towns. Would you kindly-" "Hello!" I interrupted breathlessly. "Look here-this isn't Mr. E. My name's DeWitt, I'm a friend. Mr. E's dead." There was a long silence on the other end of the wire, followed by a "Are you sure, Miss DeWitt?" "Dead as a doornail," I replied. There was an exclamation and a hurried goodbye before the connection broke.

_Cold light above us  
Hope fills the heart  
And fades away  
Skin white as winter  
As the sky returns to grey _

I found myself all alone on the day of the funeral. I hadn't been able to reach Vronsky-one of his friends whose name I forgot the second I was no longer in his presence told me that Vronsky was out-of-town visiting family. Physically, I wasn't alone. The photographers and reporters were there. I hid at the top of the stairs, afraid of being showered with questions. Booker would have LOVED to hear how I ended up in the papers. Just loved it, y'know?

I wished to simply do my mourning alone if I couldn't do it with the hundreds of people who came here nearly every night. But I wasn't about to leap down and chase away the reporters like an animal. So I wrapped my arms around my knees in my black dress, rocked back and forth, shut my eyes, and checked all the doors for Erik. I saw several where people showed up. I saw a lot in which Christine had run with Erik to Paris. I saw some where Christine had left them both, and I saw much which made me smile-Erik leaving behind Christine forever. However, that smile quickly diminished and turned to a disgusted grimace when I was suddenly overwhelmed with doors where Erik and I were more than friends. I quickly ran past those until I found another one, this being one where Raoul and Erik were in a romantic relationship (I nearly screamed). Deciding that was enough universe-hunting for the day, I quickly returned to my world and waited out the reporters with my head in my knees.

Footsteps approached and I tensed. I felt the person kneel and put a hand on my shoulder. My head snapped up and I found myself face-to-face with the Doctor. I hadn't talked to him since I'd seen him at the party, although a few times I'd seen him running through the city looking worried. Without a word, I stood up and we walked far away from the reporters. "I only heard about it yesterday and I couldn't reach the house." "It's alright. No one else could, anyway." "Where is your friend Vladmir?" "Vronsky." "Yes, Vronsky. Odd fellow." "Out of town." We made our way down to the beach. "They used to go there by the hundreds," the Doctor muttered. "And only you and I can come today?" I sighed. He looked at me. "Did you two become close?" "...Very much so. I was his best friend." He nodded and looked back at the house, shaking his head.

The Doctor told me he had to leave, and we shook hands right there by the sea. I began to walk away before he called my name. "Yes?" "If you want to see me again, find a big, tall blue box." "How big?" "A bit over 6 feet tall. You'll know it when you find it." "How do you know?" The Doctor studied me for a moment. "You somehow remind me of it." I decided not to question him. He then smiled at me once before running back towards the house. It then hit me that I was smiling for the first time since the next to the last song.

_There is nothing left of you _  
_I can see it in your eyes _  
_Sing the anthem of the angels _  
_And say the last goodbye _  
_I keep holding onto you _  
_But I can't bring you back to life _  
_Sing the anthem of the angels _  
_And say the last goodbye _

I see West Egg as a night scene by El Greco: a hundred houses, at once conventional and grotesque, crouching under a sullen, overhanging sky and a lustreless moon. In the foreground four solemn men in dress suits are walking along the sidewalk with a stretcher on which lies a drunken woman in a white evening dress. Her hand, which dangles over the side, sparkles cold with jewels. Gravely the men turn in at a house-the wrong house. But no one knows the woman's name, and no one cares.

After Erik's death West Egg was haunted for me like that, distorted beyond my eyes' power of correction. So when the blue smoke of brittle leaves was in the air and the wind blew the wet laundry stiff on the line I decided to come back to Booker. There was one thing to be done before I left, an awkward, unpleasant thing that perhaps had better have been let alone. But I wanted to leave things in order and not just trust that obliging and indifferent sea to sweep my refuse away. I went to see Vronsky when he came back to town and talked over and around what had happened to us together, and what had happened afterward to me, and he lay perfectly still, listening, in a big chair. I don't even remember what was said, but what I do remember was thanking him for our gallivanting, beautiful summer days and nights we'd spent together in the city, thanking him for being my guide through society, thanking him for the pleasure of being a fellow observer with him. And I remember holding his hand for one brief second before I, tremendously sorry and angry and regretful, ran out of his apartment. And that night, I paid my last respects to Erik.

_Tonight we're on the run  
While we chase the morning sun  
Until our paradise is shown  
So we could live forever young... _

On the last night, with my trunk packed and my car sold to the grocer, I went over and looked at that huge incoherent failure of a house once more. On the white steps an obscene word, scrawled by some boy with a piece of brick, stood out clearly in the moonlight, and I erased it, drawing my shoe raspingly along the stone. I then stepped inside, slowly, and then began to run in when I suddenly remembered all the contents of Erik's desk. I opened up all the drawers and took all the music pieces, seven black ribbons, and the drawings of Vronsky and I. I bunched up all the drawings of Christine and threw them out the window into the Sound. I almost could hear a sigh vibrate through the house. It was oddly beautiful.

With a sigh, I leaned against the wall, only to hear the sound of my head hitting the wall echo into some invisible room. I shot up and searched the wall. Shoving aside the desk, I spotted a keyhole. Taking out a hairpin, it took me only a few seconds to break the lock, and the room swung open. Again, I nearly screamed. Standing in the center of the circular room was Christine! Or, a Christine doll that was scary as hell. A Christine doll in _a wedding dress! _For the first time in weeks, I thought of Raoul and Christine. They were careless people, Christine and Raoul-they smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness, or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made...

I looked some more around the room. I spotted a smaller writing desk with only two drawers, both of which were easily cracked with a hairpin. In the first drawer, I found an entire stack of staff papers. Flipping through them, it struck me that Erik had written a full-length _opera! _It was entitled _Don Juan Triumphant. _Instantly I knew I had to take this with me, along with the ribbons, other music, and the drawings of Vronsky and I. Opening the other drawer, I froze.

It was a drawer entirely dedicated to me. I found a painting of my house, a sketch of me with a rose in my hair from that ill-fated tea, a couple pages entitled _Elizabeth DeWitt Study-My Dear Friend _(which consisted of drawings of me from different angles, my face from different angles, me in different dresses and with different facial expressions...), a journal documenting everything that happened through that summer, and at the very bottom, a music piece, only entitled _Elizabeth _**(I would assume this to be the song Elizabeth from the Bioshock Infinite OST)**. I took everything with me, overcome. However, heading down the stairs, I heard hurried footsteps and peered over the railing silently and smiled sadly. It was only me, dressed in what I wore to the masquerade, looking quite frantic. I watched myself run to the grand fallen chandelier and then run back outside to catch the tear. I shook my head sadly, dropped everything off at my house, and went back to Erik's, where I stood on the steps right where he did to say goodbye.

Suddenly struck with an idea, I raised my arms above my head and felt the fabric wrap around me differently. An enormous green light sprung from my fingertips and lit up both of our properties and Christine's house across the bay. I released the green orb and watched it float into the sky, a silent memorial.

And as the moon rose higher the inessential houses began to melt away until gradually I became aware of the old island here that flowered once for Dutch sailors' eyes-a fresh, green land of the new world. Its vanished trees, the trees that had made way for Erik's house, had once pandered in whispers to the last and greatest of all human dreams; for a transitory enchanted moment man must have held his breath in the presence of this continent, compelled into an aesthetic contemplation he neither understood nor desired, face to face for the last time in history with something commensurate to his capacity for wonder.

And as I sat there brooding on the old, unknown world, I thought of Erik's wonder when he first picked out the green light at the end of Christine's dock. He had come a long way to this blue lawn, and his dream must have seemed so close that he could hardly fail to grasp it. He did not know that it was already behind him, somewhere back in that vast obscurity beyond the city, where the dark fields of the republic rolled on under the night.

Erik believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter-tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther...And one fine morning-

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

_Follow the echoes of your soul  
To the edge and far beyond  
But no matter where you go  
Just be sure to make it on..._

The last train to paradise... 

**A/N: YES! It's finally complete! I might publish Erik's entries in the notebook Elizabeth found as a oneshot, I'm not sure. Tell me what you think. Thank you for reading, and please review!**

**_And because I feel generous tonight...  
__A sneak peek at my upcoming 3shot._  
**

**Suddenly, he felt as if he could not stand any longer. He sagged off of his perch on the roof and fell to his knees, holding his head in his hands. Maybe if he had been paying attention, he would have noticed the crunch of snow beneath feet approaching. Maybe if he had been paying attention, he would have felt her cold but uncomfortable stare. Maybe if he had been paying attention, he would have heard the even, cold voice warn him, almost reciting-**

**"You torment them about their love as if they were to blame, I will clear you from my conscious with the eloquence of my blade."**


End file.
